Grand Foreigner (Overlord\FGO Crossover)

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea 44: Mordred

As a worthy knight should, Mordred could withstand the most incredible horrors and overcome any obstacles in his path.

Battles, hunger, fatigue, lack of sleep, cold and heat, are all things that a knight, a proper one at least, should have no trouble with. Once, Mordred's skull was split open, and even then he still held on for nearly twelve hours of desperate galloping to Camelot itself to report the result of the battle. All without removing his helmet, not only to keep his true identity a secret, but also to keep his head in one piece.

Mordred, of course, at the moment did not actually know definitively whether this was the way things happened, whether his head was split open that is. He didn't know for sure, since he had passed out after delivering his report, and after he awoke, he was already in one piece again. But at that moment, it clearly seemed to him that it represented the only plausible course of events – the headache was inexpressibly excruciating.

In any case, Mordred was used to withstanding the most incredible and cruelest blows, trained and stoic enough to pass any test…

Or so he thought.

As it turned out, however, Mordred seriously overestimated his fortitude and courage.

Or maybe he just wasn't trained enough to withstand this particular type of attack…

In any case, though, Mordred could withstand a hundred swords and a thousand arrows… He certainly could not withstand the awkward conversation he was currently having with his father.

That was why Mordred, a Saber – a hero with enough instincts, ferocity, and brutal fury to stand just one step below Berserker class boundary, was now demonstrating the skills of a class with which he had no affinity at all.

Namely, the Assassin.

With every fiber of his being, he's trying to summon from his memory every tip and skill still left in his mind, Mordred tried to be an inaudible shadow – an invisible ghost slithering through the walls of Chaldea.

Mordred, imagining himself to be a secret assassin, instead looked more like an awkward child, trying to huddle against the walls in an attempt to appear less visible than someone with even the least modicum of stealth.

In a way, you could even say that Mordred looked… Cute. He was acting like a child trying to hide from their parent's gaze, having eaten the last cookie and now watching with bated breath to see if the parent had already discovered this unforgivable sin.

However, telling Mordred that he looked 'cute' was only slightly better than telling him that 'she looked cute'.

She – I mean, he! Was a knight, a mighty warrior, the best Servant in the world, and all that…

Yes, and all that! That's right, that's exactly what Mordred wanted to say!

Okay, anyway, the problem – at least the one that he's currently facing – was not that Mordred didn't know how to be inconspicuous. At least any more than a child who thought his childish cunning was the pinnacle of intellectual planning.

What's more troubling was that Mordred was in the same vicinity as his father!

And from this, in turn, followed the fact that Mordred could have met him at any time!

That is to say, Mordred had already met his father. But that memory of the incident Mordred chose to erase from his memory, now pretending that nothing of the sort had happened in the past, and his periodic sparring with Jalter had arisen of their own accord. With no underlying motive whatsoever…

No matter, in any case, Mordred was now in danger of meeting his Father by accident and… And Mordred could not so easily accept the thought.

He could not simply pretend that there was nothing strange about it. That his passionately loved – and simultaneously fiercely hated, Father was only at arm's length away from Mordred, walking the same corridors, talking to the same people. It was even possible to meet his eyes!

The mere realization that Arthur – that is, Arthuria – was somewhere near him made everything inside Mordred grow cold. All thoughts in his mind ceased to a halt, and his hands began to tremble treacherously. A sensation in between the chance to meet his beloved idol in person, and the fear of meeting a stern teacher, forever imprinted in his memory.

A conflicting emotion that left Mordred himself torn between two incompatible impulses – to rush away or to get closer.

Oh yes, Mordred longed to approach his father, to talk with him as if nothing had happened, to talk about the weather… To find out what his favorite kind of coffee was… To get down on one knee and reaffirm his eternal chivalrous allegiance…

At the same time – and especially after their last meeting – Mordred couldn't just do that.

One casual glance at his father's figure was enough to knock out any possibility of Mordred from speaking, walking, breathing, blinking…

Mordred wanted to meet his father and at the same time…

At the same time, Mordred was incredibly afraid.

Scared of not hearing an answer to his questions, scared even to hear an answer. Scared of the possibility of seeing the emotion in his father's eyes, or the lack of it. He was scared of being unnoticed – of seeing his father pass by, looking somewhere else past Mordred himself, paying no more attention to him than Mordred himself might pay attention to a random passerby.

And yet, even with his fears, Mordred could not so easily retreat from his morbid obsession. Even the occasional actions of Jalter – or the figure of Angrboda passing periodically near the room of the Knight of Betrayal, claiming to be his mother, could not remove the thoughts pressing on Mordred's mind.

But neither could Mordred resolve them on his own – now instead locked forever in some strange dream consisting of a perpetual 'attempt to gather his thoughts and strength', an attempt that was destined to failure.

Perhaps the most ideal of all current options for Mordred was, perhaps, to seek help…

But, of course, there was no way Mordred could do that! Because he – or she – was a proud knight! In no way could Mordred simply admit his weakness by asking an outsider for help…

Exactly! In Mordred dwell the pride of a knight and King Arthur's only legitimate and worthy heir – not at all some emotion, especially one as ridiculous and foreign to that as embarrassment! Certainly not!

And that was why Mordred continued, day after day, to lurk neatly at the edge of his father's perception, hoping that he would not notice his presence…

---

"There she is again… " Hoping that Arthuria would fail to notice the actions of her son, daughter – long story, was a fool's endeavor.

Even without her skill, the Instinct that Arthuria had honed through her life and especially her sixth sense, even the instinct of a wild beast, bordering between unconscious understanding and foresight would notice Mordred. In fact, it was harder not to notice Mordred in the corridors of Chaldea, you have to be blind to actually fail to do that.

Mordred had little understanding of what 'stealth' should even look like. So for her, trying to be as stealthy as possible was to desperately huddle in corners and to peek around every corner. Mordred looked exactly like the kind of person who would be the first to be noticed.

Furthermore, Mordred, unaccustomed to walking quietly and carefully, occasionally stumbled over her steps, stomped loudly and hissed curses just as loudly, accusing the world around her of trying to keep her from secretly watching her father.

"Although…" Arthuria's mind slip a smile at the funny picture. "The world didn't need to stop Mordred from doing anything, she was doing a pretty good job of it herself."

Oh yes, Mordred had been stalking Arthuria – for at least… Hmm, how many days had it been since she had been summoned?

Arthuria wasn't sure, so she preferred to just mark it as some imprecise 'long time' – and…

And that was pretty much it, Mordred had done nothing else. Mordred had spent her entire time in Chaldea 'shadowing' Arthuria.

Arthuria didn't care if Mordred was chasing her, if she was trying to hide from her, or if she was watching her every action for some other nefarious reasons… Arthuria just didn't care. There could have been any other Servant in Mordred's place, and she wouldn't care – the fact that it was Mordred was in that position didn't affect Arthuria.

Well, almost…

But admitting – even to herself – that this situation still seemed at least a little uncomfortable was difficult for Arthuria.

And of course, the reason was pride – that's right, her royal pride, her legendary king figure, maybe even some ancient magic…

And absolutely not that Arthuria was embarrassed to ask for help with such a problem!

Arthuria had no such emotion in her arsenal at all, like embarrassment, or anything like that, let everyone know about it!

Anyway, such a thing wasn't important, Arthuria didn't care at all about the fact that Mordred was trying to stalk her all the way to Archer – Arthuria wouldn't break the flow of her routine…

Especially since that routine consisted of Archer's cooking!

So, completely unconcerned and while pretending not to notice Mordred's actions behind her back, she made her way to the kitchen, after which, with a regal gesture, she opened the door to the kitchen, eager to see Archer before her…

And the hamburgers she was promised!

---

Mordred waited a few seconds before making his way across the hall and to the closed door behind which his father had hidden, before frowning. He then kneeled down on one knee before leaning his ear against the door, trying to hear exactly what was going on in the other room at the moment.

Planting his bare ear against the cold metal of the door that led, judging by the sign, to the kitchen, Mordred froze, holding her breath, trying to catch the barest of sounds.

At first, he heard only some rustling, then muffled words, which the knight could not hear what's being spoken. Then a light clatter, as if something was placed on the table… Then further, the sound of a chair being moved from its place… And then…

"Mordred? What are you doing?" An unexpected, and loud voice made Mordred shudder and her heart, beating slowly to let her ears hear what was happening outside the door, froze in horror.

Not a single thought had time to form in Mordred's mind, before, with all her speed, she turned toward the speaker.

What appeared before her eyes was a man in his early twenties, give or take a couple of years, dressed in a plain gray shirt and black pants, ending in black boots and girded with a leather belt.

The realization that this was what Ainz, Mordred's new Master, looked like came to her a moment later, along with the retreat of the fear and shock that came from nowhere, turning into rage instead.

"What do you want!?" Mordred reacted aggressively instantly, not hiding her voice and, speaking frankly, not particularly mindful of the secrecy she was supposed to maintain. "I'm busy here!"

"Hmm?" Ainz started looking around after Mordred's words, especially at her posture, leaning on her knees and resting against the iron door, clearly trying to eavesdrop on what was going on the other side of the door… "I guess at this point I should ask – with what?"

"What do you care!?" Mordred barked back, not rising from her posture, looking at Ainz with eyes that saw a near-certified enemy. Though gradually, as the anger or more likely the shock began to recede, Mordred's gaze grew more and more placid. After a second, Mordred exhaled and looked at Ainz with a look that was still somehow angry, but not so hostile anymore. "What do you want?"

"Truthfully, I was just surprised to see you looking so strangely, so I came over to ask why." Ainz glanced at the girl – though the girl herself would have been extremely opposed to such a designation.

"What are you talking abou…!" Mordred began to furrow her brow before the abrupt disappearance of the thing supporting her arms caused her to suddenly plummet forward.

At the moment of her fall, a whole heap of thoughts flitted through Mordred's mind. That she was on a mission… That she was following her father… And that she wanted to quietly overhear their conversation and that she didn't want to attract attention…

At the same time with these thoughts passing through her head came the sound of her doom. The creak of door hinges, marking the opening of the door, which Mordred had been leaning on – and that the support that had disappeared for a perfectly logical reason.

Someone had opened the door, and there was only one possibility for their identity.

"Master," The voice that Mordred heard instantly, caused her to fall to the ground, bumping her face into the floor, and for her to freeze in this posture.

For an infinitely longer second, Mordred grasped at the thought of pretending that the impact on the floor had caused her to lose consciousness… But the thought that this was unrealistic for a Servant of her class – and the fact that by doing so she would appear even more pathetic to her father than she did even now, made Mordred rise from the floor.

Still, as he looked into her father's cold eyes, Mordred had to do her best not to give away her true feelings in her voice. "Father…"

"Mordred," Arthuria's cold voice reached Mordred's ears, its lack of emotion almost enough to make her cry.

Ainz, an unwilling observer of the unfolding events, could only utter a small exclamation at the realization of the car crash he's witnessing. "Oh…"

---

In YGGDRASIL there were many characters from Arthurian mythos – including Arthur himself – and his son, Mordred… Though they were both guys, imagine his surprise when he found out that they were actually girls!

In the game itself, it was rare to observe the interactions between these two NPC's, and perhaps for the best. As far as Ainz himself could recall from various details of the lore, and quest descriptions, the relationship between them was very peculiar. Mordred was King Arthur's half-demon son, conceived from his own sister, Morgan, who concealed the fact that he was a half-demon, and also the fact that he was Arthur's son until the perfect moment for her plans.

And though Mordred was a great swordsman – he was a Dark Paladin, not really a mage and not really a warrior to be exact – and his relationship with Arthur was very strained indeed. Arthur didn't trust him at all.

Besides, the fact that Arthur was a pure Paladin, the mirror opposite of Dark Paladins, and a defender of humanity and extremely kind – for human races that is. Their personalities were the exact opposites, so conflict between them was to be expected. Still, thanks to his personal strength and adroit execution of orders, Mordred was still one of Arthur's elite soldiers and generals.

And then, in the course of one quest, Arthur found out who Mordred really was – fortunately for Mordred, while Arthur was away for Camelot. Arthur then decided to execute both Mordred and Morgan for their deeds upon his return.

Depending on a Player's previously completed quests, race, and karma score, Players in this situation had several possible ways in which this quest chain was to progress. And since, aside from Mordred and Morgan, there were no other non-humans with negative karma in Camelot – it made perfect sense that Ainz Ooal Gown collectively came out on their side of the line.

In which Mordred decided to try to kill his father first by the Players' assistance, through a secret passage the Players were to attack the moment Arthur arrived and destroy Camelot. A place that to any Heteromorph Player was like the headquarters of PK'ers. The fact that pretty much all the NPCs in the castles regarded any Heteromorph Players as less than scum, regardless of Karma scores, just makes the quest sweeter.

Mordred would also disable some traps, lured enemy NPCs to certain locations suitable for battle with them, and even assisted in a few battles – only in spirits though, using support abilities rather than fighting directly.

Because the developers of YGGDRASIL didn't want to make it easy for the players at all.

In any case, after the final battle in the throne room with King Arthur – a battle that Ainz himself stupidly got into, and one-on-one with Arthur at that. Only through incredible luck, use of exploits, traps, disposable mobs and help from other Players did he not just die like an idiot. In the end, Mordred had killed Arthur, who had cursed Mordred at the moment of his death.

In a moment that Ainz was sure were in many Player's picture books, not caring for his Father's curses, Mordred removed the crown from Arthur's head and placed it on himself as he ordered his loyal – and only surviving – knights to destroy Camelot. After which, together with his mother, Morgan, he set out to travel away from the ruins of the castle.

In total, if the information Ainz had gleaned from YGGDRASIL was at least partially similar to what had happened here, Ainz could easily understand the reason Arthuria and Mordred, meeting each other's gaze, froze, staring into each other's eyes.

Ainz instantly felt an irresistible desire to get as far away from the scene before him as possible…

But at the same time, Ainz felt that as their boss he had to be present during what was happening in order to help his two subordinates – the Servants – to understand the current situation… Is this what it felt to have siblings who hate each other working in the same company? At least Bukubukuchagama and Peroroncino, for how much they argue, actually got along well.

Although, maybe he was wrong and his presence in the current situation was just unnecessary. If this situation was really serious and personal, then he should leave in order not to embarrass everyone present…

Ainz, immersed in these two conflicting thoughts, tried to look up to find Archer, for some reason Ainz had a feeling that Archer had ample experience dealing with fighting women. Judging by the fact that it was the kitchen, he had to be near…

However, his gaze met only Arthuria, with Archer nowhere in sight…

Still, judging by the whole tray of burgers displayed on the table behind Arthuria, he must have been here a few seconds ago… The fact that Archer was nowhere to be seen only confirmed Ainz suspicions that Archer must be a playboy in the past, the ability to quickly run away as soon as women troubles loom, speaks of ample experience.

Before Ainz could contemplate asking Archer for lessons, Mordred had risen sharply from her stupor, trying to pretend that she was perfectly all right – which was rather difficult to do, given the several large dirt stains on her face. "What… are you doing now, father?"

Even to Ainz, who was almost blind to such things, Mordred's voice was surprisingly unconvincing. The strange tone that managed to be both squeaky and low, as if the speaker herself didn't know what emotion she was feeling at the moment.

"Eating," Arthuria answered briefly, then turned away towards the whole tray that held many more of the uneaten burgers, and then corrected herself. "I was until you showed up."

"Oh, ha, huh?" Mordred, tongue-tied by such a response, tried to answer instantly. "I mean, of course I could have guessed, I mean, yes, I mean, I just thought… I mean, of course, that's it…"

Even Ainz, a creature rather low on the list of great orators, involuntarily grimaced and twitched an eyebrow at such a pathetic, almost panicked reply of Mordred, who obviously forgot how exactly she was supposed to structure her sentences.

"I mean, I didn't think a Servant – though of course there's nothing wrong with that – I mean, wrong doesn't mean you can't do it, but I say I have no problem. I mean, problems with things going on, not specifically with food, I mean I like to eat too and…" Ainz couldn't see Mordred's eyes, but he had no trouble imagining. With each word she said, her pupils must have dilated in horror as she tried to think of some follow-up phrase, but ended up making the whole sentence only more and more awkward.

And judging Arthuria's expression, she was not particularly amused by Mordred's words – which only made Mordred even more panicked, continuing to babble, each word more awkward than the last… Why is Mordred now talking about the time she got bonked in the head?

Eventually, the awkwardness of the conversation on Mordred's part exceeded even Ainz' enormous threshold of patience, forcing him to step forward – partly from secondhand awkwardness that such a conversation had continued at all, partly out of pity for Mordred, desperate to end the dialogue and unable to do so. "Excuse me, I hope you do not mind if I somewhat interject?"

Ainz couldn't find any particular emotion in Arthuria's eyes, though he found anger and relief in equal measure in those of Mordred, who turned her head toward him. "Maybe we should sit down at the table and have a few burgers?"

"What do you mean 'we'?!" Mordred blurted out immediately, her expression wouldn't look out of place from a deer in the headlights, but Arthuria's answer silenced her instantly. "Of course."

Arthuria took a step inside the kitchen, letting Mordred and Ainz pass, who, after taking a few steps, settled themselves at the table, looking at the dish Archer had prepared.

Arthuria, followed close behind, closing the door behind them, and then all three sat down at the table, facing each other…

Ainz, sitting by the side, could look at the two girls at the same time – judging by the way Mordred lowered her gaze, the situation was only slightly less awkward for her than the previous one.

What surprised Ainz the most, however, was the fact that Arthuria, who until then had seemed to Ainz an example of indifference to the world around her, hadn't even reached her hands into the hamburgers. Ainz was pretty sure that there were an obscenely limited number of things that could make Arthuria not touch Archer's food… Not that Ainz could much blame her for that.

In any case, the situation between the two girls – although they managed to be father and son to each other, was as strange as the description of their familial relationship.

However, Ainz lacked the ability to dispel this atmosphere.

He could certainly have tried to take the bull by the horns and play a 'tough boss' and force them to get along…

But Ainz considered himself so unsuited to the 'tough boss' image, and the situation was so delicate, that he did not want to even think about it. Never mind the consequences of such actions. While it might not hurt him much, he doesn't want to take Excalibur blasts to the face.

Hmm, in that case, what should he do now?

With an effort, Ainz tried to remember what he had managed to read in the books he had gotten – not the magic books, but the 'how to be a good boss' books.

Remembering a good one, Ainz tried to smile and move the subject to at least neutral ground, bringing them to a dialogue at least. "I think we should eat the hamburgers before they get cold!"

As if these words brought the two girls out of their stupor, they both looked at Ainz, then, for a moment, at each other. Synchronously, the two girls reached for the burgers, trying to pretend that that was what they cared about right now. "Yes, of course…"

After that, without talking, but repeating each other's movements to the extent that involuntarily Ainz remembered the two Neros, both girls took a hamburger and started digging in.

After that, instantly, each of the girls broke into a smile as they tasted it.

Ainz, however, as much as he wanted to participate in such a thing himself, didn't reach for the food, just in case, and stayed put.

Mordred, after finishing her three bites, instantly grinned happily. "I could finish off three dozen of those!"

"I don't think so, they're too filling, you have to take at least a half hour break between each dozen," Arthuria replied in a natural tone, as if she were speaking from her own extensive experience.

"Huh! I could do it without a break!" Mordred replied with a smug smirk… Before suddenly realizing exactly to whom she had responded to.

Instantly the atmosphere, which had brightened up for a second, now hung in a tense silence, silencing Mordred and Arthuria.

Arthuria, on the other hand, looked away from Mordred's face…

And Ainz, who had been watching the whole time, noticed the way Arthuria tried too hard to pretend that this averting her gaze was completely accidental and unrelated to Mordred's actions.

There was a tense pause for a second before…

"So… Is that a wager I hear?" Arthuria, still looking just past Mordred's eyes, answered in such a feigned casual tone that Ainz could only surmise how difficult it was for Arthuria to mimic that 'unimpressed tone' she usually spoke in.

Mordred, frozen for another second, nodded slowly. "Yes… That's right… A wager…"

"In that case… " Ainz drew attention to himself as he rose from the table, both to escape the two bickering father and child, and to also be a good boss. "I'll find Archer… To make this wager work."

At these words Arthuria and Mordred nodded in unison, then, noticing their synchronicity, pretended that it didn't bother them at all, and pretend they didn't see each other doing so.

Ainz, on the other hand, took a few steps from the table and smiled inwardly.

Great, the beginning of a fruitful dialogue had been made! Of course, he couldn't solve all the problems between the two girls at once – and in general he probably should have let them sort it out on their own, but…

He had started a dialogue between them!

Like a real good boss, he had helped them – albeit a little – with the problem! And he didn't look like an undiplomatic patsy prying into their business! He had left the stage at just the right moment, finding a plausible excuse for not getting involved in a showdown between two girls with complicated family relationships!

Oh yes, Ainz was on a roll!

Perhaps Ainz could congratulate himself, his actions had, in fact, had a perfect effect!

There was only one concern that caused Ainz to exhale sadly.

He had never tasted the hamburgers Archer had prepared…

And judging by the mood of the two Sabers – he couldn't even count on trying them in the next few days. Archer probably wouldn't be approachable in cooking for him after he'd landed him more work.

Being a good boss is so hard.

---

Name: Mordred Pendragon

Race: Heteromorphic

Title: Knight of Treachery

Job: Servant of Ainz Ooal Gown \ King Arthur's Knight (?)

Residence: Chaldea, on the periphery of Arthuria's vision

Karma: +20 (Neutral)

Race Level: Homunculus (1)

Class Level: Saber (15)

Swordmaster (10)

Berserker (5)

Knight (10)

Others (20)

Total: 60 Class Levels + 1 Race Level = 61 Total Levels

HP: 80

Mana: 60

Physical Attack: 70

Physical Defense: 0

Dexterity: 60

Magical Attack: 0

Magical Defense: 60

Resistance: 20

Special Ability: 80

Skill: Clarent Blood Arthur

Level: 90

A strong AOE attack in the form of a fairly long line. It deals mostly Electric damage, though a small portion of that damage is dealt by fire, mana, and as physical blast damage.

Player Comments:

— Eh, I'm bored. I just have nothing to say – just another no-interest build.

— I'm curious, each of the classes taken, how does it result in such a stat build? Well, there's the Saber or Swordmaster class, shouldn't it automatically increase the level of physical defense? Knight classes, in general, are a frontline fighting class aimed at building Resistance and Physical Defense, compensated by weaker magical defense and physical attack… So… WHAT, YOU ACTUALLY PURPOSEFULLY BROUGHT DOWN YOUR PHYSICAL DEFENSE TO ZERO BY YOUR OWN ACTIONS?!

— Oh yes, let's do it, one single build in which we will change only the color of the special ability. The blue explosive beam we'll call 'STARFALL OF ETERNITY', yellow will be called 'THE TRUE EXCALIBUR', and the red will be 'CLARENT BLOOD ARTHUR'! How truly original, just awesome! I can't understand, do players purposely build themselves the same build, identical to a tee, with only the difference being the color of sword beams? Or have the creators of YGGDRASIL gotten THIS lazy?!

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea 45: Sita

What was the first thing any Servant who entered the service of Ainz had to do?

From Sita's point of view, the right thing to do was to find out exactly where, for what purpose, and under whose command she was supposed to be in.

And there was no better way to do this than to find out the answers to these questions from other Servants.

Of course, the right, and easiest way to accomplish her goals, was to simply ask her Master about her future mission – but that didn't mean that he would necessarily answer it truthfully, especially when talking about someone like Ainz.

Not to mention an obscure evil deity like Ainz, but even a run-of-the-mill magus, would probably lie. After all, it is difficult to honestly answer a question like 'how do you feel about your Servants' or 'are you a good person?'. It wouldn't even have been necessary to answer with outright lies to confuse Sita, simply answering obliquely was enough.

However, the moment Sita first took a step out of the room that she was assigned by the Director after her Master disappeared – a very obvious problem instantly arose before her.

To whom, exactly, could Sita turn with the many questions that plagued her?

With some, understandable, surprise, Sita had suddenly discovered that she was not her Master's only Servant. When she was first summoned, surrounded by so many other Servants, she had even thought that there were a lot of Masters in Chaldea. To not only find that there was only one, but that there were… more Servants than anyone had ever imagined came as a shock to her.

Several dozen, an astronomical amount, and they were all so different in character.

That was not the only shock she received, though. At first, she was worried about the amount of Mana that must have been expended just to keep so many Servants around, surely even an evil deity like Ainz couldn't have so much Mana? She was worried that she had to compromise her morals to ignore so many people that must have been drained constantly of their life force.

Luckily, it was a worry that quickly expunged after her tour of Chaldea by Da Vinci… After she was grilled for anything she remembered about the Singularity and about what she knew or thought about Ainz.

Too bad that when she asked Da Vinci about how Ainz got along so well with so many personalities, she was only offered a shrug in return.

Captain Drake? Sita respected her military credentials and leadership skills, but in her insistence on offering to have a drink with her, that Sita realized that she was nothing like Sita herself.

Medea? She had little desire to mingle with Sita, and their character, looking closely, was too different for them to easily find common ground with one another.

Cainabel? Such a joke is simply unfunny.

So, paradoxically, Sita found that among the many Servants of Ainz, the closest and most comprehensible to her was…

The greatest scientist of all time, none other than Leonardo da Vinci herself!

Yes, Da Vinci was a woman, somehow, but with her knowledge of the Throne of Heroes and the Holy Grail Wars, this small matter of fact did not surprise her.

Da Vinci was also a surprisingly good conversationalist… if only Sita could have a turn talking, that is.

Yes, that's right, Da Vinci was willing to answer any questions Sita had, even the ones she hadn't planned on asking… when she got a chance to ask.

Okay, speaking frankly, when she first met her, Sita had suddenly found herself almost tied in place, like an audience forced to watch a performance from Da Vinci herself.

Frankly speaking, Da Vinci just really, really, really wanted to talk and ask questions – to express all her theories that she had not yet had time to tell the world. And such theories, as one could expect, Da Vinci had many.

About the nature of Ainz, about the existence of new, undiscovered metaphysical disciplines, about astrophysics, about the development of the literature of ancient Rome, about humanity, about everything at once – and about nothing in particular.

And as Sita was the first to agree, to her misfortune, to listen to all these theories, her time was spent mostly listening to Da Vinci's theories. By a strange coincidence, as it turned out, the other Servants and people of Chaldea had the good sense to avoid Da Vinci whenever she's in her 'mood'.

Forced to spend many hours doing just that, Sita understood quite well why they had done so – and could even sympathize with the unfortunate souls who had been in her shoes in the past.

Still, no matter how much she sympathized with them, it doesn't mean that she still didn't harbor some resentment of being Da Vinci's sole target. Sita, of course, was perfectly educated, intelligent, experienced, and a host of other qualities that a Servant of her mythological era was supposed to be… But Da Vinci was Da Vinci.

And so Sita, for all her willingness, and breadth of patience – could not fully grasp Da Vinci's thoughts and theories. After a very short 10 minutes, she could only offer Da Vinci nothing more than to serve as a silent listener.

Da Vinci was perfectly happy with the situation; Sita was not.

But, of all Sita's virtues, foremost were her patience and temperance. So, even as she had stopped understanding what Da Vinci continued to explain to her, she just remained in her seat, keeping her gaze on Da Vinci as she moved animatedly around her office. She was clearly determined to make some kind of grand presentation to her first casual listener, occasionally nodding in time with her words and pauses, marking the end of another thought.

Sadly, the only thought in Sita's mind at that moment was nothing on whatever it is Da Vinci was discussing.

'I really made the wrong choice.' Sita mentally sighed, not allowing any of her sentiment to seep into reality. 'I should have asked someone else… Maybe Kiyohime? She's Ainz's wife – I'm sure, as wife to wife, we would have easily found some common ground with each other…'

Thankfully Da Vinci, who could, in theory, read other people's minds, was too absorbed in her own story to hear Sita's own thoughts.

"…and if my assumption is correct – it invalidates everything we previously knew, no, could assume – about parallel worlds!" Da Vinci paused for a moment, as if, even she, couldn't bear to dump all her thoughts and theories on Sita at once, before exhaling to gather her thoughts. "Who knows, it might even bear some bearing to the source of your curse…"

Unlike the thousands of previous words and sentences – this nugget, Sita heard instantly.

"What!?" Sita returned from her stupor and stared google-eyed at Da Vinci. For the first time in… at least a dozen hours, asked a question and even successfully drew Da Vinci's attention to herself. "What did you say about my curse?"

"Oh, did you miss it? Well, there was much to be heard all at once…" Da Vinci looked at Sita with interest, before allowing a slight smile to her face. "Don't worry, I'll be happy to repeat it…"

"No, thank you," Straining all her persistence – not a personality trait for which Sita herself was known for, she smiled, then continued nonetheless. A chance to cure her curse was worth breaking courtly manners. "But I need to know exactly what was said about my curse…"

Da Vinci bit her lip thoughtfully, as if she had accidentally said something unnecessary in a private conversation. An odd enough expression for someone who a few seconds ago seemed ready to tell the wonders of the world without any further conviction, but Sita used again all her persistence to ignore it, repeating her question. "I really need to know?"

"Hmm, about that…" Da Vinci, who a moment ago had been speaking with glee about her accomplishments and theories, was silent for a moment before she exhaled. "I suppose I can't just pretend that I didn't say that?"

Sita smiled a little shyly at that, a bit embarrassed by her unseemly behavior. "Absolutely not."

Though, if Da Vinci really didn't want to say anything, it's not like Sita can contend the point with force. It wasn't that Sita was a powerful Servant, no, she had her own powers, of course, some can even be regarded as quite powerful. But if only her own powers were used to evaluate her as a Servant, there was a very realistic possibility that Sita would not be a Servant at all. And if she were, she would be at the bottom of the barrel in which, metaphysically speaking, Archer-class Servants were kept.

Really, the Archer class ran the gamut of Servants capabilities, it's like the Throne of Heroes just throws the Servants it can't make heads or tails of in there.

Returning to her lack of capability as a Servant. The reason was that her husband had sacrificed some of his power – his very ability to be summoned as an Archer, in order to give Sita the opportunity to become a Servant and make her stronger. All so that one of them could make their most cherished wish, should one of them actually win the Holy Grail War.

And the reason for Rama needing to do such a thing… was that Sita was in fact a complete copy, a kind of reflection, the flip side of Rama's coin. Inseparable part of him and at the same time – eternally cursed to always face away from him.

So that was why Sita needed to know the personality of her new Master! Sita was an extremely loyal Servant. As she is a dutiful wife, so too would she also be a loyal Servant, always clearly and calmly obeying their commands, no matter what they were… except romantic ones, of course.

There was no amount of Command Spells to make her forget about her husband or even think about anyone else romantically.

Yet the very reason why Sita became a Servant in the first place was the ephemeral possibility of one day achieving a wish, of reaching the Holy Grail that could deliver her from her greatest stigma. Her curse, of never finding Rama again.

Neither in the underworld, nor in the Throne of Heroes, even in a Singularity, could she meet him, so total was their curse. Even if, by some miracle, and it would take no less than a miracle, Sita had managed to meet Rama – one look at each other would have been all that Sita would manage to snatch. After that, anything, up to and including the breaking of the universe, the intervention of the Gods, or the direct will of Root – would have pulled them apart again.

All his reign, Rama had sought deliverance from this curse, anything – a spell, a prayer, divine intervention, anything that would lift his curse, and Sita as well had sought the same thing all this time. Separated forever, but thinking as one…

One could not simply tell Sita that a miracle cure existed, dangle it like a carrot in front of her nose, and then pretend that she was not supposed to hear about it and ignore her.

For one chance to see her husband's face again, Sita was ready to destroy the Singularity, all of America, if necessary, the whole world, in a crucible of nuclear fire…

And she did not regret her decision, nor repent for a second.

So Da Vinci's words that something like that might indeed exist somewhere, that something might shed the mystery about her curse – were, for Sita, like blood in water for a shark.

And Da Vinci, easily aware of this, only sighed before taking a seat at the small wooden chair with sagging back posted nearby, looking into Sita's determined eyes. "Your – or rather, your curse, it was originally cast on Rama, but it affected you both. A curse that represents… the will of this world, isn't it?"

Sita nodded quietly at Da Vinci's question, it wasn't a secret that would hurt her or Rama in any regard. In all the incalculable time she had spent apart from Rama, she had been able to discover that the curse placed on them was not some simple spell or anything like that. It was an ability beyond what any other Servants or even Heroic Spirits possessed, perhaps, even something beyond a mere Divine Spirit. It was the will of the world – a kind of law or even a constant, determined by Gaia or Alaya, which Sita could not discern, which had become an immutable truth.

Literally, the will of the world.

But Sita had found that out after years and years of research – it was strange to hear Da Vinci from Da Vinci's mouth, considering that she had hardly spent more than a couple of minutes thinking about it…

On the other hand, perhaps one would expect nothing less from the greatest genius.

"Then the solution is simple." Da Vinci replied with mocking ease, as if the question of the curse hadn't been something that Sita had almost become crazed by. Or did, judging by her actions in the Singularity.

"We need something comparable to the Will of the World – and there is only one, barring an attempt to make the world at large change its mind. The Will of the Other World!" Da Vinci leaped and then shouted with a manic glee in her eyes, causing even Sita to take a step back by her fervor.

"To fight against the Will of the World, the simplest of options is to try to appeal to something that embodies another world, whose will would not agree with the will of this world. In other words, we require an Outer God!" Now it wasn't just a gleam, but Sita could see some eldritch truth in Da Vinci's words, as if she was about to peer into some truth that is not meant to be known by man. But before Sita could start to doubt her determination to meet her beloved, to walk on this Outer Path, Da Vinci continued on.

"But! Since it's hard enough to appeal to the Door-and-Key or the Dark Mother under our current conditions – even if I think that it would make an incredible experiment! We still have one creature, one who exists outside the World's paradigm! Which, by a happy coincidence, is also your Master, whose name doesn't invoke madness and doesn't need sacrifices to be called on!" Da Vinci clapped her hands as if she were a teacher explaining simple arithmetic to children about the addition of single digits, a wide smile stretching across her face.

"Speaking of which, there he is!"

Sita, whose mind had been driven into a stupor after experiencing something similar to an overload, thoughtlessly turned toward the door leading to Da Vinci's study… To find her new Master at the entrance to it.

---

Ainz felt the urge to shiver for some unknown reason as he took a step inside Da Vinci's study.

Having dealt with Scáthach trying to kill him, in a way, and Medb trying to do something else to him, but just as creepy, also in a way, Ainz was in no way at ease. Even with the little distraction from his worries after his meeting with Karna, Ainz still felt that there was still one problem before him that he had not yet had time to deal with.

The books that he had… borrowed from the underground library of that local magical association.

Ainz took all the books indiscriminately, not particularly paying attention to what exactly he was collecting. After all, from his point of view he couldn't tell exactly what he was taking, either by appearance or content, which he didn't understand at all. For all he knows, one of them could be the secret recipe book for the perfect tartar sauce!

Ainz could scarcely imagine the confusion of anyone receiving such a book from him!

So, before he would give any of the books to Olga-Marie, he wanted to consult Da Vinci. She had been acting much more reserved towards him lately, and could probably tell him which books Ainz had seized would be useful in Olga's studies, and which were in the end something like a cookbook. After his skimming, he definitely found some recipe books in the stash of sto… borrowed books!

Ainz absolutely did not want to be so immediately embarrassed, showing his total ignorance of local customs, magic, or something like that…

Considering the fact that Ainz was sort of in a relationship with Olga-Marie, he especially didn't want to give her… a gift, perhaps, that she wouldn't like. At least, in his time in the guild, all his friends had warned him about that, they periodically complained to each other about the unsuccessful gifts they gave or received from their significant others.

The ones that had regular contact with women at least…

Sorry, Peroroncino and Ulbert, I don't think your advice of 'just stick it in!' or 'just give them money!' would work here…

However, Ainz realized that his simple and beautiful plan had gone wrong when no one had reacted to his knock on the door, even though he could clearly hear Da Vinci's voice from behind the door.

So, after waiting a few seconds, he opened the door, and only had time to take a step inside the surprisingly not junk-filled, but cleaned and even, in a way, clutter-free Da Vinci's study, before he froze.

First, from Da Vinci's grandiose gesture toward him – and second, from discovering that in Da Vinci's study was not only herself, but also a second Servant, whose presence he had not previously noticed.

She was a short girl with red hair gathered in two large ponytails at the sides of her head and wearing clothes so light that it was easier to call it a 'peignoir' than a dress. Sita, one of the Servants Ainz had summoned earlier, had not even aroused his interest and had slipped his entire notice.

Unlike Scáthach who had tried to kill him or Karna, a Servant so powerful that he had even managed to wound Angrboda, or, of course, Medb, Sita had not caught Ainz's attention. In the Singularity, he had only met her for a few minutes at the very end, and her parameters didn't seem like anything special.

So, although Ainz was a little ashamed to admit it, he regarded her as just a pity pull. An extra that was overshadowed by the more rambunctious Servants.

On the other hand, in a way, Ainz could even take a strange pleasure in the fact that he perceived his new subordinate as 'just another subordinate', that's good, isn't it? Because it meant that Ainz had already begun to settle into his role as a 'boss' and had begun perceiving his subordinates without problems… Admittedly, the fact that he ignored one of his subordinates meant that he was still far from being a 'good' superior.

So, coughing awkwardly into his fist, he corrected his recent blunder. "Good afternoon, Sita, Da Vinci… Sita, I don't want to be disrespectful, but…"

"WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT CURSES?!" A moment later, the girl's rather petite and frail figure was off the ground in a single leap as she literally started clinging to his clothes.

Were it not for the fact that Sita's own strength was not impressive and Ainz's own strength was far superior to that of a human – Servant or not, he would have most likely been swept away. It would also be a miracle if he did not destroy the table that Sita had swept up in her haste or crash into a wall.

What was more important than the reason he was still on his feet, though, was the reason he might not have been on his feet – Sita's reaction. Or rather, the words that escaped from her as she rushed toward him.

His suppression of emotion worked a moment later, suppressing the panic before he responded with anything inappropriate, allowing him to answer with, in fact, the truth. "Some things."

While it was best to say that Ainz was a mage who focuses on Death magic, Curses were still present in Ainz's arsenal in no small amount. As a dark mage who had chosen to role-play an Undead of the highest rank, the Overlord, his arsenal was quite extensive in that regard, and he knew quite a few – in-game that is – things about curses.

It wasn't his most direct specialty, though, only a related one – the Player with the largest arsenal and the most powerful curses in the guild was in fact Tabula Smaragdina.

No, technically, a few extremely powerful curses were also in Ulbert's arsenal – those curses he picked for his class – but the full-fledged specialist in this area was still Tabula.

Tabula was also, somewhat, 'interested' in mythology and so had read through all of her spell descriptions and had put the flavor text to heart. Further, being the least silent member of the guild, Ainz had sat through many instances where Tabula would gush about this or that magic factoid in the past, and could probably repeat it… If he remembered it, of course.

"What exactly are you interested in?" But still, even with his maybe spotty knowledge about magic, if he were to also combine his knowledge of the game universe and maybe a few facts from mythology, it might be enough. To lie somewhat convincingly, that is, or to string so many useless random facts that it might sound plausible.

Hey, it worked so far! If not, he might just grab one of the random curse spell books in his inventory, and it might distract them for a while.

Still, Ainz wasn't sure he could help and answer the question he was asked anyway… However, at least he could listen about the problem – it certainly wouldn't make things worse.

"How do you break a curse?!" Sita, however, discarding her demure facade, clutched at him with a vice grip, staring at him with a look that could have burned through steel if she wanted to.

"Which one?" Ainz sighed as he answered, cursing his luck as he met another troublesome situation. No, of course, if he were to use something like a World Class Item, he could break any curse without learning more about it. But it was definitely the last resort of all the last resorts – World Class Items were valued by players far above their lives. After all, being reborn in YGGDRASIL was a daily occurrence, but finding a World Class Item – furthermore the same one – a second time was very unlikely.

"The will of the world. A curse that is from the will of the world." Sita looked him straight in the eye, completely unafraid of his reaction. Da Vinci, meanwhile, took a little distance from the unfolding scene before her, and took out her notebook and pen from a nearby shelf and prepared to write down everything. "The curse of separation that separates me from Rama."

"Hmm," Was Ainz's answer to that.

The curse of separation? Ainz couldn't immediately recall if there was such a curse in YGGDRASIL. There were indeed some curses that were highly disliked among Players – like all curses in general really – that forbade two Players to join the same party, or prevented Players from using certain items. But, Ainz wasn't sure if that was the type of curse Sita was talking about…

Still, the effects of Sita's curse were something that were somewhat familiar to Ainz – such curses were rare, and their levels wildly varied in and of themselves. But, the kind of curse that Sita was talking about were all fairly high level – none of them below the seventh tier of magic.

But still the 'will of the world', hmm? Is that like a stage? Like a dungeon room that imbued a curse to whoever that is inside it?

A term like 'the will of the world' was not often used in YGGDRASIL.

Some bosses and their special abilities mentioned such a thing, but more typically, such words could be heard when describing far more piecemeal things – such as World Champions, Realm Lords, World Class Items – and, of course, World Enemies.

If that's the case, then, if Sita's curse involved certain abilities of World Enemies or World Class Items – then such curses could only be broken with other World Class Items… Which Ainz was not going to do for nothing.

He would need an extremely good reason to even get out a World Class Item from his stash…

If it had to do with other ranks than that, then the Super-tier Magics – like Wish Upon A Star, would probably suffice… not that Ainz would be too happy to just pull that out willy-nilly.

"Hmm, I see." Ainz nodded, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn't lying, "I think I understand."

Sita, hearing such an answer, abruptly let go of Ainz and took a step back, staggering as if struck, looking into his eyes with a strange mixture of hope and fear. "And…"

As she started speaking, Sita paused for a second, swallowing the viscous saliva that had suddenly risen in her throat before continuing. "And what could be done about it!?"

"I… " Ainz furrowed his brow, a bit uncomfortable by the fervor that Sita was showing. He wasn't going to be stabbed in the back if he refused her, would he?

"Theoretically speaking, and without giving direct guarantees, I can try to do it…"

Sita froze after these words, not quite sure what she had heard, hearing Da Vinci's voice coming from behind her, writing something quickly in the margins of her notebook. "I had no doubt…"

"But I think you must realize that… Such an endeavor would be costly, I can't make it that easy, without getting any compensation." Ainz nodded.

Indeed, even without resorting to the level of World-Class Items, the mere appearance of which would require an absolutely ironclad reason – the suffering of his Servants, with all due respect to them, was not one of them. But even using magic like 'Wish Upon A Star' was still highly questionable.

Using that magic took a minimum of five full levels from the user – and given the changed conditions around him, Ainz could not guarantee that he would be able to recoup that loss if the circumstances came to pass.

Of course, he still had two more nearly full rings, five free uses of the Wish – but therein lay the problem. He only had five such 'free' wishes left, which Ainz certainly didn't want to waste for nothing – especially considering that depending on the strength of the curse, it could require more than one wish to break.

For instance, the previous wish, Ainz had already spent on making Mashu immortal – which might not have been the best exchange – but what's done was done.

It was not such a great waste, on the one hand, as an experiment, a test of how such magic would work in the New World. And on the other hand, as a reward for Mashu for all the past Singularities. It was also in no small part because Mashu was his first Servant, and was the one who first met him in this world, who was also there when this whole Singularity crisis had begun in the first place…

In other words – there were many reasons why he spent one of his finite – one that is very limited at that – resources on Mashu, and not all of them were out of sentiment. Just eighty percent of it, perhaps.

"What – what do you want in exchange for it?" Sita raised her gaze to Ainz.

Ainz, on the other hand, thought for a moment.

That is a good question…

Perhaps the right and even fair answer to that would be 'reimburse me for what I will spend on you' – but it is unlikely that Sita could do that. What price can you put on a literal miracle, after all?

In that case, if Sita herself could not directly reimburse Ainz's spending – then she could reimburse it indirectly. For example, by trading away some rare or valuable artifact in exchange for Ainz's spell – preferably one that could not be found in YGGDRASIL…

Hmm, come to think of it, her Noble Phantasm looked good – but Ainz wasn't sure if he could use it. And getting, albeit a rare but still a mere item, one that he probably can't use, would be another dead weight in Ainz's inventory… Which reminds him of those things' shitty drop rate. He still wants Tesla's dammit!

Maybe he also needs a curse to be dispelled?

Anyway, back to the point, in other words, if the material repayment didn't work, then…

"I suppose I could try to do it as a reward for service, but…" Ainz looked at Sita, his newly summoned Servant. "We can talk about that when you prove yourself in the field first."

Hearing those words, slowly, Sita nodded before raising her gaze to Ainz. "I understand, so… Service… In exchange for a wish?"

"Something like that," Ainz nodded, then exhaled and shook his head. "Okay, I guess we've got that sorted out, in that case, I should probably be heading out."

After that, with another nod to Sita, saying goodbye to her and Da Vinci, Ainz went away.

Another problem solved – kudos to 'good boss Ainz'!

As he crossed the threshold, Ainz thought for a second, as if he had forgotten something, before he dismissed the silly thought. If it was important, he certainly wouldn't have forgotten it!

---

Left alone with Sita, Da Vinci finished her notes in her notebook with a big full stop and set it aside as she looked at Sita… Who had already turned around on the spot and was looking at her with an expression full of steely determination. The kind of determination that has led humanity to irreparable disasters time after time. Of the greatest Heroes and Villains – determination.

"I want everything," Sita answered as if to hammer out every word in metal. "Anything he might want from me… There are very, VERY few things in the world that I would not do to fulfill my deepest desire."

"I never doubted it." Da Vinci smiled back, as he watched the previously demure girl disappear like a mirage, replaced by a woman with a crazed expression. Perhaps even the same one that she's sporting right now.

'So this is what a Yandere not fixated on Ainz looks like…'

---

Name: Sita

Race: Heteromorphic

Title: Rama's Wife

Job: Servant of Ainz Ooal Gown \ Wife of Rama

Residence: Chaldea, Da Vinci's workshop

Karma: +50 (Neutral ~ Neutral-Good)

Race Level: Deity Avatar (10)

Class Level: Archer (15)

Wife (10)

Bow Master (10)

Cursed Archer (5)

Others (21)

Total: 10 Racial Levels + 61 Class Levels = 71 Total Levels

HP: 40

Mana: 80

Physical Attack: 20

Physical Defense: 0

Dexterity: 80

Magic Attack: 40

Magic Protection: 80

Resistance: 100

Special Abilities: 60

Skill: Haradhanu Janaka

Level: 60

A powerful long-range attack that deals physical damage and minor holy damage. A surprisingly uninteresting ability for something in the level 60 bracket.

Player Comments:

— You've seen a tank without physical defense before! You've seen an undead hunter with an insta-kill! But were you ready to see… an Archer who decided to become a magical tank?!

— Oh yeah, the famous Archer build without the ability to attack, but with Dexterity 80… It's kind of a DPS' function to run and shoot. At least both her resistance and mag defense are decent? If you try to swat her, she will run away – and shoot, dealing one damage with each shot. So it's literally a build not to be useful, but to annoy opponents, genius!

— You wanted to get a magical archer, I get it, that's fine. But you got a rogue-tank-DD-mage-priest-archer, who sucks in every role. BUT WHY DID YOU SPEND TEN LEVELS ON THE WIFE CLASS?! WHY!?

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea 46: Preparing for the next Singularity

Ainz would really like to say that he had sorted out all the problems he's currently facing, other than the Singularities, that is. And, in a sense, he actually did…

In fact, the only thing that could count as an issue was the question of the books he was going to give to Olga-Marie… In which case, he was absolutely stuck.

Neither the books, nor his intention to give them to Olga, had gone anywhere. His original plan was to figure out which books were appropriate as a gift and which weren't – and that had gone down the drain.

That is, Ainz, having met Sita, only realized the fact that he was originally supposed to visit Da Vinci for this very purpose, and not to solve Sita's problems. The fact that he had only remembered that after he returned to his room, grinning like a polished little copper from the fact that he had solved Sita's problem… Only to discover that he had failed to do the thing he was going to do in the first place.

Going back to Da Vinci's study under such circumstances… would be counterproductive.

Considering just how strange it would look for him to visit Da Vinci in short succession, the risk of him running into yet another Servant with one problem or another was too great… The concern would still be there, but he would like some time in between, please!

So after a few minutes of doubt and thinking, Ainz finally came to a conclusion that he was satisfied with – and decided to just give Olga all the books he had stol… I mean, borrowed from the library of the magical association.

Even if there were books in that archive that Olga would not like – most likely, because of the vastness of the archive itself, there would be books there that she would like as well. Of course, to find them Olga might have to wade her way through a dozen books that did not suit her, and Ainz's gift could have been much better if he had sorted out all those books beforehand. But Ainz could not make a gift that perfect, and the prospect of reading so many dry books with words he didn't understand definitely didn't appeal to him.

So in the end, he could only hope that this was enough, and he could make Olga happy with at least the number of books…

A voice on the loudspeaker snapped Ainz out of his musings, informing all listeners – but most of all, of course, himself – that his presence at this moment was needed in the Chaldea command post.

It seems that it is already time.

His brief vacation in Chaldea flew by so quickly that it had passed in a blink of an eye – a week and some change and that was it, a new Singularity awaited him.

Ainz sighed, rising from his bed, then got to his feet.

The sixth Singularity.

To think, how long had it been since he first woke up in the corridors of Chaldea?

A little over two months, no more than two and a half.

Ainz had spent twelve years in YGGDRASIL – a full dozen even…

In other words, the difference in time spent in YGGDRASIL and in this crazy, ever-changing, bright world was… About seventy-fold?

He had spent almost seventy times as much time in YGGDRASIL as in Chaldea. How many stories from his playing times had he accumulated? How many pleasant memories had he retained, and how many artifacts of the past he still kept with him?

Ainz moved to the exit, opening the door easily, before stepping onto the already so painfully familiar route leading to the painfully familiar people who were sending him on a painfully familiar mission.

He had spent a magnitude more time in YGGDRASIL than in Chaldea, so why…

Why are his memories of his YGGDRASIL now seemed so distant to him?

---

The path was familiar to Ainz – he'd walked through it six times before, after all, and in quick successions too. And so, after only a couple of minutes of walking, Ainz had arrived at the threshold of the command center. Glancing momentarily at everyone who was supposed to be present at this little war council – Roman, Olga, Da Vinci, Scáthach, Medb, and Sita?

Ainz blinked, then tried to figure out exactly what he didn't like about observing the current situation.

Roman? He was doing surveillance and gathering preliminary information for the Singularities – makes perfect sense…

Da Vinci – additional background information and analysis… and she probably wouldn't be caught dead missing the event.

Olga? Perfectly logical, she was the official leader of the ongoing operations and also the one that formulated the tasks.

Ainz's gaze then stumbled over to the three Servants who were also present in the command center at the moment – and whose presence Ainz definitely didn't expect.

To Ainz's prolonged scrutiny, though, Scáthach reacted first – throwing back at him a look that was something between irritation and aggression… with mistrust mixed in there, perhaps, too.

Sita's gaze, on the other hand, expressed absolute determination – a glimmer of steel in her eyes and in her posture. Her fingers were intertwined with her hands resting calmly on her lap, but Ainz had no doubt that, at this moment, Sita's attention surpassed even Da Vinci, scanning every slightest speck of dust swirling in the monitor…

Medb's situation was much simpler and more complicated at the same time.

Medb was just trying to pretend that she was incredibly engrossed in reading the reports in front of her, so immersed in her own world that she barely noticed Ainz's presence… which failed completely to anyone with eyes.

In fact, she was stealing a look towards Ainz so frequently and quickly that he worried that she would sprain her eyes…

"Um." Seeing nothing to it, Ainz was the first to draw attention to himself.

Medb twitched in response, her awkward movement tearing the papers in her hand to pieces, the sheets scattering across the room, the noise almost deafening in the otherwise silent room – a smattering of pieces landing on Ainz's feet.

"I meant to do it. Yes, the report was so shocking…" Medb blurted out instantly, almost reflexively, obviously not quite knowing what she was saying or what she was supposed to say under the circumstances.

But by the look in her eyes when she looked rounded momentarily, and the way she had already opened her mouth to make some sort of excuse – which probably meant another incredibly awkward dialogue – Ainz had unleashed his greatest power!

To pretend that what was happening was perfectly normal and exactly as he had originally intended.

So, without changing his expression at all, Ainz closed the door behind him, the air currents disturbing the scraps of paper that had fallen to the ground before. Ignoring that spectacle as well, Ainz quickly made their way to the lone chair, apparently left especially for him, opposite Roman and Olga. The both of them, carrying an expression of surprise, made it clear that this situation did not fit into their understanding of normality at all. Da Vinci, on the contrary, was almost humming a song under her nose, looking at everything that was happening before her with undisguised glee, her hands writing notes at a blistering pace.

"So…" Still, if Ainz had allowed any environment to influence him, he would never have become an absolute master of the greatest ability in his arsenal.

The ability to 'pretend that everything is absolutely within the norm, and in fact was predicted even before it happened – who knows, maybe even Ainz himself had a hand in the incident!'… He can't imagine the situation he would've been in if he had not mastered that technique.

"What's the next Singularity?"

Hearing Ainz, Roman started looking around as if the situation was indeed normal, and it was just him that's overreacting… When one of the scraps of paper landed on his face, Roman decided that he had other things to worry about, cleaning the scrap off as he coughed awkwardly. "The Singularity, yes…"

At that, Sita and Scáthach's eyes were focused on Roman – Medb too. But considering that she still managed to glance at Ainz about three times a second anyway, making the observer think that she was following some invisible and extremely fast object flying before her eyes, her situation hadn't changed much.

"Ahem," As if trying to find some confidence in his actions, Roman coughed distinctly once more before continuing. "Yes, of course, Singularity…"

Coughing once more, clearing his throat, then another after Olga surreptitiously elbowed him, Roman finally began speaking."Yes – the Singularity… We have established that the time coordinates of the Singularity are found at the time of the Crusades, to be exact… in the Holy Land of Jerusalem in the thirteenth century… Most likely."

"Hmm, the Crusades…?" Ainz sighed, what's that?

'No, of course, I've heard of such things once happening, religious wars… what a novelty. Fighting and killing another human being because of a difference in opinion? In my world, religion played almost no role whatsoever in people's lives – after the Third World War, which practically destroyed humanity, you could say that the Apocalypse in its various variations from all the holy books really happened…

Although, it doesn't mean that people are not just as ideological, one always needs to believe in something – even if it is the power of science and not religion… Hmm, who exactly said that - Tabula Smaragdina? Or was it Punitto Moe?'

After trying for a few seconds to remember which of his friends specifically said it, Ainz sighed, brushing those thoughts aside before glancing at Roman, catching another, equally unimportant thought. "Most likely?"

"Yes," Da Vinci put her notebook aside for a moment, stepping into the conversation, causing Ainz to look away and Roman to exhale. "We're seeing very strong temporal distortions, so pinpointing when the Singularity is… difficult to say the least. But we've encountered something similar in the past, haven't we?"

Ainz thought about it for a second before nodding. "The Third Singularity, Okeanos?"

"That's right," Da Vinci nodded before sighing. "But this time the distortion is incomparably greater. In Okeanos, the problem existed in the fact that Drake had driven Poseidon mad – and in the existence of two Holy Grails, at the same time. The Grail that was supposed to be in that world – and the Grail that had been brought by the Demon Kings. Their existence, along with the interference brought upon by the maddened Poseidon, had created the distortion in the Singularity, confusing geography of places and violating laws of reality. In this new Singularity, however, there was more than one distortion… As if within this Singularity, already a distortion of the world, several smaller distortions, Singularities, had appeared that distorted the already distorted fabric of reality even further."

"Hmm," Ainz replied with a moment's thoughtfulness, "And what you suppose are causing these… Distortions?

"Great question!" Da Vinci shouted with glee at Ainz's words, as if she'd just been waiting for an opportunity to explain something… Though, knowing Da Vinci, it's quite likely that that's exactly what happened.

"And the answer is… " Da Vinci held up a suitably dramatic pause, "We don't know!"

Her enthusiasm combined with the non-answer caused a sweat drop to fall from Ainz's head.

"The original Singularity was most likely created by the Grail – but if a second Grail had affected it, as in Okeanos, we wouldn't have seen the phenomena of a Singularity within the Singularity. Instead, the first Singularity would have just been further distorted even more." Da Vinci bent her finger, then touched it to her chin thoughtfully and rolled her eyes.

"But even if the Singularity inside is smaller in scale than the original Singularity, that doesn't mean anything. The very fact that a Singularity was created inside another Singularity means that something really incredible – and extremely powerful – exists inside that Singularity itself capable of distorting the world even without a Holy Grail, and thus, obviously, extremely dangerous."

"If the distortions were created by Servants, then they would be Servants whose level exceeds all supposed limits – perhaps they are Servants that are close to, or even equal to, Divine Spirits. In other words, the very top of the Servant power pyramid." Da Vinci answered, simultaneously sounding serious, conveying in her tone some concern with the development of this situation. And yet at the same time maintaining a lightness in her tone, clearly confident that whatever might happen, no insurmountable problem would arise before Ainz.

"Either that or they were Servants with special abilities ideally suited to this situation and these actions…"

Da Vinci thought for a moment after that, before smiling slightly. "I suppose Servants like Baal, Cainabel, Angrboda, or Medb would be capable of such a thing…"

At this point Medb, who had finally convinced herself that no one was paying attention to her, and was therefore quite shamelessly ogling Ainz while blushing slightly, flinched and abruptly shifted her gaze to Da Vinci.

"Perhaps I could also create a similar Singularity within a Singularity? The fabric of the world is distorted enough in a Singularity, that it would be magnitudes easier than normal." Da Vinci smiled shamelessly after her claim.

"But such a thing is obvious, I am a genius among geniuses, after all, for me there is nothing impossible!"

Roman waited for a few seconds, after Da Vinci's grandstanding, before adding his own two cents in. "But what if it isn't the work of the Servants? That possibility scares me, perhaps even more than the possibility of meeting an unlikely Servant…"

"Yes, indeed," Da Vinci switched easily from her 'glory-seeker mode' to 'professional mode' and sat back down. "Other possibilities? It may not be the action of the Servants themselves or other creatures, but the action of some particular magic. Or maybe some special artifact, or maybe the area was already with powerful magic lurking in it, or just a strange phenomenon of nature. There are, in fact, many possibilities…"

"So we don't know exactly why such a phenomenon has occurred, but it's probably a disturbing sign, a troubling sign of things to come." Ainz nodded, then thought for a second.

"But what exactly are these 'Singularities within Singularity?'"

"And another great question!" Da Vinci glanced at Ainz, continuing to shine her smile. "And the answer is…"

"We don't know," This time, finally overcoming her embarrassment for being in the presence of the other Servants, especially Medb, Olga decided to follow Ainz's example and pretend that what was happening now was completely normal.

"Or rather, we know that it's still a part of the Singularity – something that follows the original principle that was embedded in the Singularity." Olga sighed, trying her best to distance herself from the watching Servants.

"But given that this is a Singularity within another Singularity? The principles within these additional Singularities might be even more different than in the original Singularity – in other words…"

Ains nodded, finally understanding what Da Vinci was saying. "I understand…"

'So, an extra dungeon inside another dungeon? How rare…' Ainz frowned a little.

There weren't many instances – at least one that are known, verified, and documented, of such a thing happening in Yggdrasil. But, as one would expect from the sadistic developers, there were 'hidden quests' or even 'hidden dungeons' even within other quests and dungeons in YGGDRASIL.

Personally, Ainz had only found one such instance, with three others reported by his friends at Ainz Ooal Gown… Though in one case, he wasn't entirely sure – it was very likely that Peroroncino had simply decided to embellish his story the day he went to do the Succubus Queen's quest…

He probably embellished it. Technically speaking, the hundreds of half-naked women described in the quest were not fully against the rule for distribution of pornographic material. But it was Peroroncino, he could very well make up such a thing…

Never mind, it was more important that each Singularity, and each dungeon, was always a headache. So now, with hidden dungeons and unknown Singularities within each other? Ainz could feel a phantom headache forming.

In other words, it was a situation that was extremely difficult to prepare for. In that Matryoshka doll-like Dungeon, Ainz went from an ordinary dungeon that required immunity to poisons, protection against acids, fire magic and powerful AOE attacks to a hidden dungeon that required exactly the opposite. It needed one to have protection against fire, immunity to light, ice magic and powerful single attacks with high defense penetration… basically a death sentence to the ordinary Player.

The only reason Ainz made it through that dungeon was because Ainz never unpacked his inventory. Unlike a lot of other, more optimized players, who kept their inventory absolutely clean except for the essentials of the mission, either so they wouldn't have to give up the contents of their equipment when they died – or so that they can urgently collect it if they died in a dungeon before their equipment was destroyed - Ainz carried around an absurd number of different equipment and consumables 'just in case'.

That time, Ainz was able to quickly change his equipment and get through the dungeon, gaining a fairly high-level loot at the end and getting a new quest line – but that was not the point of the story.

If this Singularity really was like a hidden dungeon – and Ainz couldn't find another, more appropriate analogy at this point – it meant that his plans and prepared strategy for the standard Singularity might need some changing.

Ainz wasn't worried about himself – not letting his pride get the better of him, Ainz was quite confident in his strength and tactical flexibility, but as for the other Servants…

Besides, as the past Singularity had already proved to Ainz – properly selected Servants could solve a Singularity almost on their own efforts, even without his intervention. An enviable quality, especially since Ainz was not exactly confident in his 'interventions', even if he has been quite lucky so far, relying on luck is a fool's errand…

But, if the Singularity before him was going to be even more confusing than usual – then selecting the right Servant would be even more difficult than before… So, rather than making some optimized composition of Servants, Ainz was better off taking Servants with him that could fill many vacancies at once. Or, alternatively, to step away from qualities altogether, from finding specific abilities among Servants entirely and take those who 'just proved themselves well'.

"I get it." Ainz nodded before looking away.

So, then, the composition of Servants for the mission…

Himself, though perhaps that's not needed to be said, he would serve as the main fighting force, support, tactics, and an arsenal of abilities in case of a sudden surprise

Hmm, next is Mashu, definitely. Of all the Servants, she was the only one suitable for the role of a pure 'tank', and so were essential in any dungeon in any case.

Then, someone suitable for the role of Damage Dealer was needed – Archer seemed like a good enough option for Ainz, he's certainly not lacking in attacking options.

However, Archer was a 'glass cannon' like many other DDs and Servants that came to Ainz's mind. And with Mashu not having a Hate attracting ability, a certain amount of durability is needed for a DD. Not to mention that if for some reason the enemy would split, and the probability of that was not that low as previous Singularities had shown him – then that meant that the DD would become easy prey.

In other words, he required a DD capable of acting as a 'backup tank' like Yamaiko.

Frowning slightly when no other Servant came to mind, Ainz focused on his connection with the other Servants mentally before delving into learning their abilities.

Certainly, Scáthach could be the right Servant for the job… Arthuria as well…

True, Scáthach wanted to kill him – but Arthuria had already died in the previous Singularity…

Ainz frowned, after which he concluded on which Servant to pick. Arthuria had died because of his stupidity and neglect, he won't let that happen this time again. And while Scáthach wanted to kill him… Well, that's just additional reasons not to leave her in Chaldea. Ainz believed that the other Servants would have time to capture her or deal with her if she decided to do something to sabotage Ainz.

But no one but Ainz knew how to use resurrection, and so it was at least necessary to assess her up close before leaving her alone in Chaldea entirely without his own supervision.

So, a tank, a DD, and a 'reserve tank/DD' along with Ainz. It's a small group…

There was still the option of adding a rogue – someone who could detect traps, whatever appearance they took in Singularity, and in general someone smart who could correctly counteract the plans of the opponents and detect them if necessary…

The most ideal options in this case were clearly Baal and Da Vinci – they were both clever and had a lot of diverse powers, but…

Hmm, when you think about it, Medb could probably fill that niche as well. Another plus, unlike Da Vinci she would be unlikely to keep demanding explanations from him, and unlike Baal she would be unlikely to create any grandiose plan out of his misunderstandings.

Even better, Medb also had tremendous tactical flexibility! She wasn't too strong in one-on-one combat, but she had a huge range of different abilities in case of changing circumstances.

Yes, Medb wasn't a bad option – her arsenal of abilities was surpassed only by Ainz – but as for her intelligence…

Ainz shifted his gaze slightly, immediately finding Medb's eyes as she tried to stare at Ainz's secretly, causing her to freeze like a small animal caught in the light of the car lights, seemingly not even breathing.

Medb was an extremely vicious but efficient and intelligent queen… Even if she now looked like a love struck teenager.

Ainz involuntarily looked away, remembering several quests with particularly elaborate traps embedded in them.

At least she was supposed to be some kind of Machiavellian schemer according to the lore – and given her quests – she definitely is… However…

However, Ainz was still unsure of Medb's reaction to his surroundings – especially his… Ahem, girls.

Whale Medb is an excellent choice, what was needed was someone who could act as an observer for Medb – the original idea had been to use Baal… Which didn't really seem like a bad idea to Ainz even now, but Baal… Baal was not someone Ainz could trust with complete certainty.

No, Ainz didn't think that Baal would betray him, but his tendency to create his own plans out of Ainz's random remarks, was too great. Worse, he would then implement those relying on the thought 'surely this is exactly what Ainz told me to do with that random coincidence three weeks ago' might play a particularly cruel joke on Ainz… Especially when it came to his relationship.

'Right!' Ainz suddenly felt a metaphysical light bulb go off over his head. 'We could do… A controlled experiment!'

Ainz could conduct a little experiment as to how Medb could react to his interactions with others while under his personal supervision! With the result, he could then plan accordingly!

However, leaving Medb alone with Mashu or Olga was impossible – he needed someone strong enough who could also neutralize her as a last resort, at least until Ainz arrived. Someone who could withstand Medb's numerous arsenal who is also in a relationship with him, which meant…

'Medusa!' Ainz snapped his fingers uncontrollably, as he had arrived at the correct answer, which caused everyone present to immediately turn their attention to him.

Ainz, who suddenly found himself in the center of attention, again used his most magical ability – he pretended that everything was normal, and then, without paying attention to it, turned to Olga. "Well, everything is clear to me…"

"Everything?!" Olga responded by looking at him with a considerable amount of surprise and respect, causing Ainz to suppress an impulse to rub the back of his head with embarrassment.

'All that you explained to me, I meant!' Is what Ainz wanted to reply with, but realizing that would have made him look stupid and Olga to ask more question. Questions like 'Then why did you snap your fingers?' and that would have led to another awkward dialogue, so instead Ainz chose to just change the subject.

"I understand everything except one thing…"

After that, Ainz shifted his gaze to Sita. "Why are you here?"

"Because I want to know everything about the Singularity I'm going into." Sita replied with such conviction and surety, as if the very thought of not going to the next Singularity, for whatever reason, was in itself a transgression against the laws of the universe.

"Oh, ahem, I see…" Ainz, slightly surprised by such words, thought for a moment before nodding.

Sita doesn't really fit well in any of the suitable niches that Ainz could think of. She wasn't a tank, wasn't very strong as a DD, and didn't really impress with the abundance of abilities available to her – but… there is one thing.

Ainz thought for a moment, then looked at Sita carefully. "You know how to heal, don't you?"

"A bit," Sita answered as if it were self-evident. "Also to break curses – I learned that… in pursuit of my goals."

Ainz, on the other hand, only smiled slightly upon hearing this.

'Well, now we've found a healer! It's all coming together!'

---

Wake-Up News Channel's online broadcast:

Q: I mean, don't get me wrong, but there's a possibility of that happening, right?!

S: Of course not! This theory has been disproven hundreds of times – and still every time there is someone who supports it!

Q: But we have no proof that it couldn't have happened that way, could we discount it so easily?!

S: What proof can there be of the absence of something! We have evidence, measurements, studies-!

Q: (interrupts) But what if that evidence is fake?!

S: (sighs defeatedly) Do you seriously believe that someone set up an atomic war on American soil? Do you seriously believe that the civil war was fought with nuclear weapons?!

Q: I'm not saying that, but…

S: Scientists have proven, repeatedly, that the Hawaiian volcanic eruption, which threw out many tons of deep volcanic rock – also included a geyser of radon water, which triggered the radioactive fallout!

Q: (interrupts again) But no one else has done a follow-up study about that possibility, have they?!

S: (sighs again defeatedly) Because scientists have better things to do than to check whether or not nuclear weapons were used in the U.S. Civil War…

(end of quote)

Note: Q. was neutralized a little later. Enforcer S. was recalled a little later to perform the next mission by the Holy Church. Information about Q.'s remaining disciples are currently being vetted for non-compliance with the non-disclosure directive.

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 117: New Singularity

The first thing Ainz felt the moment his feet touched the ground of this Singularity was fine sand shifting beneath his feet. Then next came the bright midday sun, mercilessly roasting everyone who caught its eye. And then lastly were the hot, dry wind, its breeze barely cooling his skin.

"This is the desert," Ainz made a simple, if obvious, inference before looking around.

Unlike the last Singularity, where he had also stumbled upon a desert, if one created with nuclear weapons and therefore with its own set of unique characteristics. This time the desert he had found himself in was a natural one, the sand under his feet, the most ordinary sand, gathering in slowly crawling waves of dunes as far as the eye could see.

In his past life, Ainz had never seen anything like this – in person, at least, excluding his experiences in YGGDRASIL. But, in that past Singularity, when he took a tour of Earth's famous landmarks, he had already been in a place similar to this when he visited the Egyptian pyramids.

"Hmm, are the Egyptian pyramids related to the Crusades?" Ainz shook his head, not really knowing the answer to that. "I don't know, but I'll keep that in mind for the future… "

"Senpai?" Mashu's voice distracted Ainz from his thoughts, causing him to turn to his Servants, who had appeared at the same time as him in the Singularity.

From the looks of it, the only one who had any trouble with the heat, which Ainz could ignore due to his nature and passive protection, was Mashu herself. She was trying to shield her eyes with her hand, creating a little shade. Besides, hmm, she was wearing heavy metal armor, though Arthuria, wearing the same armor, didn't show her displeasure in any way.

Then again, Arthuria always maintained the same expression on her face, so it was quite difficult to tell from her face if she really wasn't experiencing any discomfort.

Chasing the thought away, Ainz thought about their plans for a moment, once again they had found themselves in a desert with no landmarks. In the last Singularity, his plan for general exploration had worked well – in that case, should he do it again?

"I sense something," Medusa spoke suddenly, interrupting Ainz's thoughts.

"A Servant?" Ainz asked the question that interested him. If he was lucky enough to meet a Servant of this Singularity, it was obviously a good omen – usually Servants were the ones who always had information about what was going on in the Singularity.

Medusa shook her head slightly, though.

Hmm, humans aren't bad either… At least the humans must have some information about what was going on, even if it was incomplete.

"How many?" Ainz asked the next question that interested him.

"At least thirty," Medusa pondered for a moment, "They seemed to be traveling in a convoy, with some beasts – it might well be a caravan."

"A caravan, hmm, probably either a traveling one or a trading one." Ainz thought for a moment.

If it was a matter of communicating with ordinary people – and even more so with small-time traders, then Ainz was confident in his abilities. He had the right mentality and skills for such a thing, but for the other people in his entourage…

Mashu was suitable, and at least he trusted Medusa enough not to do anything stupid. Though, on the other hand – Medusa's appearance might be too eye-catching, her manner of dress would also look out of place in a desert, never mind for the current era. Then again, Ainz himself might look strange for the current era as well, so he saw no other option than just trying to meet new people himself.

Maybe in the future, he could ask Da Vinci for clothes that would look suitable for the Singularity? At the very least, he could get the word out that he shouldn't have to meet the locals like that in the future.

"Okay, in that case, I have decided on a course of action." Ainz looked around him, at the endless desert. "I think we should look around the surrounding area just in case, perhaps we'll find an unexpected landmark. And after that, it seems that we're going to try to make first contact in this Singularity."

---

When Ainz went off to talk alone, leaving some Servants as backup and some others to scout the surroundings, all Medb could think of was that she had to demonstrate her usefulness.

If you think about it logically – because every King wants to see only useful people in his subordinates, every Master wants to see only the best qualities in his Servants. Simply because that is the natural and logical desire of any human being.

Of course, in the past, a red thread of destiny had bound Medb and Momonga together, but the conditions now were much different than in the past. Ainz was already in relationships with several girls, and Medb herself had appeared late enough for her to be unable to easily cut off all of Ainz' interfering relationships.

It wouldn't be much of a problem if she could just get rid of the other contenders for his heart by a simple and safe method, like poison or a silent knife from the shadow. The situation at the moment however was definitely not predisposed to such a thing.

For one thing, all Servants possessed limited resurrection abilities – at least as long as Ainz wished it. And while the possibility of killing the Servants until Ainz became disillusioned with them and stopped resurrecting them was not beyond her reach, it was not the quickest or most graceful plan Medb could have used at the moment.

Another option would have been, for example, to pit the Servants against each other – if she played her cards right and blamed a few Servants for causing issues and constantly clashing with many other Servants - Ainz would have to intervene. In the best-case scenario, he may simply become disillusioned with his chosen paramours, or maybe even distance himself from them. After all, nobody likes dealing with troublemakers that make their life harder for no discernible reason for no return.

Even so, if there was anything but cold logic inside Ainz, and Medb had seen for herself how big Momonga's heart could be – his judgment might be skewed. And so he might, even in the case of his paramours' obvious wrongdoing, take their side.

However, if there was someone other than his lovers whose usefulness he could not ignore, then wouldn't he judge them to be more important and take their side instead?

And Medb just wanted to help Ainz – with all her heart… Luckily for Medb, her targets, while not being all of them, were here in the Singularity with her, where anything could happen.

Mashu and Medusa were two of Ainz' current lovers, and thus Medb's natural enemies.

Scáthach had professed herself to be Ainz's enemy – so she was even higher on the list for elimination than Mashu or Medusa.

Arthuria took a neutral stance, clearly not wanting to get involved in the Servants' internal squabbles – which was commendable from Medb's point of view, and dangerous at the same time. Many of Medb's knights were the same, doing Medb's bidding, but when the situation changed and Medb was thrown off the throne, they just as easily defected to her husband's side, obeying his orders without question.

In other words, Medb had only one natural ally in this Singularity who's pursuing Ainz' favor, but with absolutely no interest in him romantically.

"Sita," Medb's voice came to Sita unexpectedly, but she didn't even flinch when she felt the girl appear behind her. Instead, Sita chose to continue her methodical survey of the desert for possible hidden threats, as Ainz had instructed. Something which was praiseworthy in Medb's mind. "Let me shorten my speech and throw out all the compliments you don't deserve anyway, and spare you the duty of uttering praises you wouldn't understand, and get right to the point."

Sita, hearing these words, did take her eyes off the desert and silently turned her gaze to Medb. "Ok, that was not what I expected to…"

"You need Ainz's favor," Medb said with such certainty, as if Sita were seeking her favor instead, not out of a desire to belittle Ainz, but out of habit. Ignoring Sita's surprised look, Medb continued on. "And so do I, and the situation at the moment is such that we need to demonstrate our usefulness and the efforts we are making to achieve Ainz's goals."

Sita, hearing this, nodded slowly. "Well, what do you propose?"

"An alliance," Medb said quietly, "A temporary alliance that is. My actions will be to your benefit and vice versa, to show Ainz our abilities and our value."

Sita thought about the proposal for a few seconds before she slowly nodded.

"Combat would be the easiest way", Medb answered calmly. "But there aren't any monsters or Servants near us for miles to come – I think you've noticed that by now."

Sita only nodded, forcing Medb to continue. "Then Ainz, Master, of course clearly knew this – but then still insisted on leaving his Servants here? There must be another reason why he had done so."

"Not to mention the fact that he had told us that already knows everything about the current Singularity, which means that getting information from talking to ordinary people is also useless… Then why are we meeting the caravan?" As she spoke, Medb ran her hand through the air, indicating the surroundings.

Sita instantly remembered the moment when Ainz, leading the meeting, had said something like that before she shook her head a little. Ainz had indeed said that he knew all about the Singularity, but was such a thing really possible?

On the other hand, even if it was a lie on Ainz's part, if he really could rid her of her curse, she was willing to close her eyes and ears on such matters. She would repeat that Ainz was absolutely omnipotent and omniscient for as long as it took.

"So he either doesn't trust the Servants to execute his plan, or he's prepared a plan that relies on our ignorance of the plan." Medb nodded, confident in her deduction.

"As I've asked around, in past Singularities, he has done exactly the same…"

"Okay, let's say that's true… So then, what now?" Sita nodded slowly, trying to work the gears in her head, assimilating the information that Ainz had already prepared some incredible plan to solve the current Singularity.

Medb only smiled a little at Sita's question. "You do realize that we're not actually in the middle of nowhere, don't you?"

---

Ainz had just finished talking to the merchant caravan, having received important information from them, and much suspicion, before taking a few steps toward the desert to leave the merchant, and his questioning gaze. Before he could get far, however, he heard Medb's voice in his head -

"Master?"

"Did you find someone?" Ainz had his haunches raised immediately, before turning toward where he assumed Medb should be.

"Not really," Medb replied calmly before continuing on. "On the other hand, we were able to determine that we were currently in a, um… Singularity within a Singularity?"

"Huh?" Ainz blinked, then shifted his gaze to the sand beneath his feet before glancing around at the people from the caravan, still watching him like a hawk. Was he already in a hidden dungeon without even noticing it? Hmm, that was dangerous. Especially the fact that he hadn't just entered the hidden dungeon, but had originally appeared in it, which meant that he was in the most dangerous position, left with no information about how this Singularity worked. And yet, even if he starts gathering information now, the information he could gather in this dungeon might not match the information about the rest of the Singularity.

What a conundrum…

"Okay." Immediately, his suppression of emotion stopped Ainz's emotional response, forcing him to answer calmly. "What else did you find out?"

"The center of this anomaly within an anomaly, seems to be located in the city to the north," Medb answered instantly, her excitement barely concealed. "And it extends for many kilometers, at least from the Mediterranean coast, to the territory of modern-day Sudan."

"Hmm, okay, I get it." Ainz nodded, not knowing what Sudan was – a river? A desert? A country?

"And, with that, you… "

"I, along with Sita, would like to scout this area." Medb replied instantly. "With your permission, of course."

Ainz, on the other hand, instead of answering, froze for a few seconds upon hearing Medb's plan.

In the current situation, with Ainz' information about the surrounding Singularity still insufficient, it was shortsighted to split up and go in search of information.

But at the same time, Medb was strong enough and had a great enough variation of abilities to survive almost any conditions she would find herself in. And Sita could make up for her slight weakness with her scouting skills, and she also has the skills of a healer, but was nowhere near strong enough or varied enough to easily survive any trap. The two of them should balance each other well…

"All right," In the end, Ainz decided to take a chance after all. "But be careful, the enemy may be strong and definitely have the terrain advantage, and could have prepared quite a number of traps. You also need to remember to protect Sita, she's a lot weaker than you are."

Ainz, remembering the last Singularity, where he had returned to one heck of a surprise, hastened to add another important instruction. "Also, in case you engage in any combat or encounter anything unexpected, be sure to let me know, I will respond instantly."

Medb did not immediately respond to these words, but there was no sense of an end to the connection, which caused Ainz to think that something went wrong. "Medb?"

"Oh, right, sorry!" Medb, who had forgotten about Ainz's presence for a few seconds, indulging herself in a cocoon of warmth, replied in a voice completely out of her working serious tone. "Of course, of course you care about me, how could I have thought otherwise… "

"Ahem." Ainz coughed a little, drawing attention, feeling somewhat uncomfortable listening to Medb's carefree voice that had acquired notes of dreaminess. "Did you need anything else?"

"Nothing, my dear, I'll come back to you with good news!" Medb replied with indulgent happiness.

"Kisses!" With that last goodbye, Medb's presence disappeared from Ainz's mind.

Ainz' connection broke off a moment later, causing him to frown, then shrug his shoulders.

He could only hope the balanced and calm Sita would be able to steer the duo through – Medb's last message didn't endear a lot of hope that she wouldn't do anything unnecessary.

When he returned to reality, Ainz realized that he had been staring silently in the direction of the desert for some minutes, and then he shook his head slightly, dismissing his thoughts. Teleporting back to the Servants, leaving behind him a dozen caravaneers and their long line of caravans, a moment later appearing before Medusa, who had already managed to gather back all the Servants, excluding Sita and Medb.

"Sita and Medb have gone ahead," Answering the unasked question, meeting Medusa's questioning gaze, Ainz still continued on. "However, I have received some information about what is going on…"

Scáthach, the only Servant whom Ainz had not directly assigned to search for enemies, but rather left her in the care of Medusa, only glanced at Ainz suspiciously at these words. Then, with a sharp movement of her head, she moved her gaze in the direction of the caravan with some alarm. It was as if she still doubted that Ainz had just simply gotten information from them rather than finishing people off on the spot.

'I understand that her being here is necessary to keep her from doing anything irreparable in Chaldea.' Ainz sighed.

'But she's annoying me! The worst part is that this situation is different from Nobunaga's.' Ainz exhaled slightly, even more irritated. 'I had beaten Nobunaga, and she agreed to obey me… But if I just beat Scáthach now – she's only likely to strengthen her desire to finish me off!'

A moment later, Ainz realized that the four Servants present were staring at him the entire time, because he never said anything about the information he had received. One activation of Suppression of Emotion later, and Ainz was able to pretend that he was immersed in his thoughts, and was certainly not uncomfortable with the attention.

"Right, the information I received is that at the moment, the Singularity contains a few separate states – or state-like associations. The Kingdom of Great Egypt, which is where we are at the moment. The Holy Kingdom in the Holy Land, and also the Assyrian Kingdom… located somewhere." Ainz bent one finger, then two others in succession.

And then he thought for a moment before he continued speaking, remembering the other information that Medb had given him. "Though there's some rumor that the surviving crusaders had created their own state, and that some people have taken refuge near the Holy Land under the patronage of the Old Man of the Mountain…"

"So, hmm," Medusa was the first to react to his words, bowing her head slightly before looking at Ainz, "Servants of Egypt, Assyria, the Crusaders, and at least one Assassin…"

'No idea about the Servants themselves… but that sounds about right.' Ainz nodded slowly, as if to agree with Medusa's thoughts.

'But what does this have to do with Assassins? No, of course there is a high probability that there is at least one Servant Assassin in this Singularity, but why did Medusa mention them separately?'

Ainz shifted his gaze from Medusa to Mashu, who, noticing Ainz's attention, only shrugged a little awkwardly, as if not knowing exactly what she should answer at the moment. Though whether she had actually received Ainz's unasked question or was just embarrassed being stared at by Ainz is not something he can answer. Ainz then turned to Arthuria, who just kept a cold, aloof expression, not really caring about the information Ainz had brought. And then finally to Scáthach, who, judging by her look, was still more interested in glaring at Ainz and his actions at the moment than in the information he brought.

Ainz waited a few seconds, checking to see if another of his Servants had any ideas, before he sighed and nodded. "Anyway, I recognized the road, so we should hurry up."

---

To the inhabitants of Cairo, the procession that appeared on the streets by the time the Sun had already passed its noon peak came as a surprise.

For those already accustomed to the manners of their new King, the Pharaoh, the golden palanquin on the shoulders of four warriors with armors shimmering with all colors of the rainbow, was not so beyond the limits of possibility. It simply confused them that their Pharaoh left his golden palace, although he had not appeared in public for months.

But the true wonder lay in the girl seated on the throne – with a figure so regal that anyone could tell at a glance that this was what a true goddess looked like. With her hair flowing red and gold over her shoulders, and with the look of piercing emerald eyes, anyone who saw the girl knew instantly that they were born for this very moment, to look at the visage of perfection.

From young to old, from men and women, anyone whose eyes touched the figure of the queen, no, the goddess – understood that life had been given to them for only this moment. The moment when they could offer their lives to the descended goddess.

If the goddess would not accept their lives, then there was no point in their existence.

As soon as a human's gaze touched her, they instantly understood their purpose.

The smiths abandoned their tools and the tradesmen discarded their gold, the wives abandoned their husbands and the children abandoned their parents. They all joined in the procession, joining the crowd as if the rats of Hamlin, following behind their beautiful goddess, no longer capable of any thought or emotion except their overpowering love, adoration, and subservience. The procession becomes like a wave in their united synchronicity, and in their unifying silence, as if afraid of attracting the attention of the goddess who could deprive them of the meaning of existence with one word. And at the same time, they were desperate to see how their goddess would draw attention to their miserable and until that moment so meaningless existence.

Amid such an impressive procession, a single short and still beautiful, but not beautiful enough to outshine Medb's beauty, the girl, Sita, continued to silently watch the other Servants approach.

Medb's arsenal of abilities is incredibly vast and varied, but from her very narrow specialty of detecting Servants, Sita was more prepared than Medb, and Medb's provided the perfect cover for Sita. Not just by attracting all the eyes, but by shackling them to her. Medb had turned Sita into a ghost, more effectively than if she had the skill of Presence Concealment, and at the same time served as a shining challenge to any Servants who might sense her.

And there were definitely enough Servants in this Singularity and in this city.

In other words, Medb was the main 'showpiece', while Sita had to act from the shadows, assessing the Servants and acting behind the scenes. It was just a coincidence that the plan suited Medb preferences perfectly.

"Coming," Sita spoke out quietly, causing Medb to nod slightly visibly.

However, Sita did not allow herself to look at Medb - of course her love for Rama was endless and unbreakable, not to mention the fact that Sita simply did not like girls in the romantic sense. But… Fearing that Medb's abilities might be more mind control rather than just a type of charm, and might lead to thoughts that Sita could not forgive herself, she chose to move slightly ahead of Medb without paying attention to her.

In any case, standing next to Medb, Sita need not worry about her visibility.

So Sita, taking only one step to the side, just in case their opponent attacked Medb immediately, so she wouldn't get hit, looked carefully, using her Archer's enhanced vision, at the figure of the approaching Servant.

The Servant appeared to be a girl – a short girl with dark, tanned skin and long purple hair that rippled in the wind. She was dressed in a light clothing of white and gold, with two large standing ears on her top, hmm… Dog ears maybe? Or were they rabbit ears? It was hard to tell, especially at this distance – much less distinguishing than her simple red-colored tattoo on her cheek, or was it just make-up?

What was easy to notice, though, was the huge, monstrous sphinx she had arrived on, although another would have called it a chimera or similar creature rather than a sphinx. Its face was hidden behind a huge, appropriately sized gold mask, but its huge lion-like body and two eagle wings were clearly visible even without Archer's supernaturally sharp gaze.

What only Sita could discern, however, was that the Servant, finding the procession, and its leader, Medb, with her gaze, seemed to sway in her seat, along with the sphinx, which immediately stopped, looking at the figure of Medb…

Then instantly they rushed forward with redoubled eagerness, along with the Servant on his scruff, who immediately flashed a smile so dazzling that Sita wanted to cover her eyes, shielding them from the new sun.

But Medb, who quickly noticed the Servant and the beast's approach, stopped, causing the column of tens of thousands gathered behind her to stand still, silently awaiting their goddess' next move.

Seconds later, the Servant, still seated on the huge magical beast, appeared in front of Medb in her full appearance, just as Sita had seen her. Long purple hair, tanned skin, a white very frivolous robes, with golden ligature around the edges, and a long, thin staff in her hands. The staff looked more ceremonial than practical, apparently carved from white bone, which had not yet yellowed in the sun, the head of the staff a carved figure with a stylized head.

"I never thought that I could see a pharaoh so beautiful, as if giving light like Ra to this world!" The girl's voice, quite high-pitched, reached Sita, before the sphinx, obeying the same sorcery as the common people around it, sank down on its paws, bowing its head. "How glad I am that I can see such a thing…"

A moment later, it was as if lightning had struck the Servant's mind, making her realize her disrespectfulness in continuing to communicate from the beast's back, so in a moment she jumped off the beast. She then froze, clearly not understanding what she was supposed to do now – maybe fall to her knees?

Sita instantly noted how unaccustomed it was for this Servant to behave from the position of… subservience? Hmm, a Servant who had come to bow to another powerful King, she mentioned the Pharaohs, didn't she?

"Enough. Tell me your name." Medb ordered when the Servant awkwardly bowed in respect to her. A phrase that to Sita sounded cold, but to those under her spell was like the babble of a spring brook, the Servant froze, waiting for the next order of their goddess.

"Oh, yes, I beg your pardon!" The same Servant jumped up in place from surprise, and involuntarily standing straight as if in the face of a strict teacher, and at the same time a favorite movie character. The girl replied, trying to maintain a serious expression on his face, and failing miserably. "The name's Nitocris! Servant of the Caster class, Nitocris!"

Then, after a moment, Nitocris hastened to add. "But I am not Nitocris of Assyria – I am the Nitocris that was the Pharaoh…"

Immediately, as if by reflex, Nitocris bent down again in an awkward and extremely inept bow. "I hope you're not disappointed…"

"Seeing such a bad example, as you might expect, he can even bow better than all the kings and pharaohs of the world… " Medb spoke with barely a moving lip. "Where did he learn that I wonder…"

Sita, meanwhile, tried to remember the name Nitocris from the list of legendary heroes of Egypt she knew. Pharaoh Nitocris… who's that?

"Nitocris, hmm…" Medb, however, lacking Sita's discretion, turned towards her a moment later, asking exactly the same question that Sita herself had been wondering about.

"Who is that?"

---

Excerpt from The Great Migration of Peoples: A History of Immigration in the United States:

…as to be expected, the number of immigrants arriving in the United States grew day by day. The people fleeing the destruction of their culture and the terrible conditions of other colonial empires in those days, many arriving immigrants brought with them not only their own belongings but also their culture – folklore, habits, cuisine, and connections.

Although in current times this problem is no longer so acute, it was only at the beginning of the migration waves that the oppressed peoples of the British Empire, of which there were many. They quite often fled without any plan, relying only on news about the 'wild western frontier' or 'gold rush', to search for better opportunities.

They fled their appalling living conditions – and the only way they could survive in this case was to be able to rely on previous settlers, regularly relying solely on their same nationality for kindness. From these humble beginnings were born the 'national communities' that were famous in the modern days. Areas in a city where certain nationalities exist almost homogeneously. And although the passage of time has significantly smoothed these corners, there are still separate areas in some cities that historically belonged to certain groups of people.

Primarily consisting of the two most oppressed nationalities during the British Empire – the so-called 'Irish' and 'Indian' areas, those areas remained mostly the same today. That's why, New York is still considered the 'Irish state', and North Carolina is the location of the largest Indian Mandir outside of the Indian subcontinent…

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 118: Making a wrong turn

It didn't take long for Ainz to travel to his destination. Unlike ordinary caravaneers, who had to navigate through the sand with imprecise maps and had to rest in oases to escape the heat and sandstorms, Ainz could travel in the most direct line. Plus the occasional teleporting, it turns weeks of travel into minutes.

The only problem was that… traveling in a straight line is harder than it sounds, especially somewhere without landmarks like a desert.

"I wonder where exactly I took a wrong turn?" Ainz, keeping his expression calm as he stared at the melted black desert ruins and the black ash that had turned solid in front of him. He had definitely gone past the desert, he just hadn't arrived at his destination.

According to the information he had gathered, this Singularity was divided into several zones that could be conventionally called states. The Holy Land, Egypt, Assyria, the Crusader City, and the Land of the Old Man of the Mountain – but that did not mean that the entire Singularity consists entirely of these states.

Nor did it mean that there was anything outside the Singularity.

As far as Ainz could see, there was no sand, or dust, or even any dirt. The was just an endless expanse of black crust of melted ash and embers that still, in some places, glimmered dimly with the burning remnants of a fire. In some rare places, the remnants of the fire still burst out in small flashes, completing the picture of desolation before his eyes.

Even the sky above wasn't blue, but was almost completely obscured by black and red viscous clouds, through which the sunlight barely penetrated. It actually almost reminded him of the sky back home, in his desolate future, it just needed the acid rain to complete the picture.

Unlike the last Singularity – and Ainz was glad he took the chance to travel then – everything that was not under the control of whatever entities control the state was a desolate hell. It was even more depressing than the one he had encountered in the last Singularity.

Turning back slightly, Ainz glanced at the desert behind him.

No, by no means was the desert, especially for ordinary people, an alluring destination, but compared to the black wastelands before him, it looked almost heavenly with the open clear blue sky and the rare white curly clouds floating slowly.

The contrast was so stark that if Ainz was still in YGGDRASIL he would have said something like 'the developers are so lazy, where were the game designers looking?!'

But because it wasn't YGGDRASIL, the feeling of wrongness was even worse…

However, what frightened Ainz at the moment was not the emptiness, but his need to complain, and his inability to do so since he has the Servants with him.

'How did I ever get lost?! I wasn't even turning anywhere and just kept going north!' Ainz took a deep breath, then exhaled, calming down without the aid of his skill, showing his gradually growing self-control.

'Though, okay, I had no compass with me and the caravaneers' directions weren't exactly so direct… I could have veered off course just a little at the beginning, or just moved further than necessary, teleporting, adding some more chaos to the equation. I did talk about that sort of thing before, about teleportation, didn't I?'

Haste makes waste… is that how the saying goes?

'The only problem is that I'm absolutely nowhere near where I wanted to go! I sent Sita and Medb out to scout, but I ended up going somewhere else entirely – what's the point of scouting if the main force goes somewhere else entirely!?'

Ainz exhaled again to calm himself down. Luckily he hadn't told the Servants with him where he was going, if not, he had to come up with some random excuse as to why he was not actually lost.

'Okay, okay, come to think of it – I did tell the Servants that I recognized the road, but none of them were present with me during my conversation with the caravaneers, were they? They don't know that I was trying to find out the way to Cairo – I can just pretend that I was asking the way to something else… But then – to what exactly?'

"I see people," Mashu's voice came as a surprise to Ainz, but it was a pleasant one – he had just found the excuse he's going to use!

"Okay, we're going to them." Ainz took the chance to shift the Servants' perception a little, and hurried to teleport so that was the first to greet the strangers to think up an appropriate excuse.

Or rather, as his passive skill, which began to work as he teleported closer, told him – he was not going to meet humans. None that is alive, at least.

"Hmm, zombies?" Ainz, still hovering above the ground, glanced at the several human-like monsters beneath his feet.

The creatures, mutilated by time and necromantic energy, only resemble humans in the barest of senses. Their empty sunken eye sockets, skin that's peeling in some places, and faces distorted by grimaces of pain and hatred, along with the unnaturally extended limbs ending in claws, they looked nothing at all like humans. Their tattered clothing only reminded him of what these people were when they were alive.

"They look like zombies, but… " Ainz took a close look at the creatures, and found that they're actually quite orderly despite their appearance, and were walking purposefully somewhere. "Maybe ghouls?"

After a moment, one of the ghouls moving at the lead stopped, before turning his gaze in the direction from where Ainz just were, and where the Servants still are at the moment.

Ainz thought for a second about why they're ignoring him even when he was much closer, before nodding. "Right, the undead won't attack another undead, so they're definitely ignoring me, maybe they didn't even notice me, mistaking me as one of their own, but all undead have passive recognition of the living. They're responding to the Servants' presence!"

A moment later, Ainz gave the Servants a command over their connection, asking them to stop, and then, to test his own hunch, he slowly descended, not even trying to hide his appearance from them.

The ghouls, about a dozen in all, now turned their attention towards Ainz and instantly tried to do something. Perhaps to disperse, perhaps to form some sort of formation, thereby demonstrating to Ainz once again their intelligence, before suddenly stopping, their pre-programmed action facing an error.

It seems that Ainz was right, the Ghouls would only react to the living.

Ainz, after making sure that their pause wasn't just a fluke, finally landed on the ground, right in front of the leading Ghoul. Seeing as the front Ghoul was the one trailing ahead perhaps as a leader, and seeing no cost to it, Ainz spoke out to him. "Can I help you with something?"

The ghoul, clearly not expecting Ainz to speak, displayed a clear expression of surprise and then reluctance. It seems that the Ghouls still retain a measure of cognition – then to Ainz's surprise the ghoul replied. "You… One of us?"

Their voice sounded as ragged as they appear, but they surprisingly still sounded legible despite the obvious damage to their voice box. Dismissing his surprise, Ainz decided to respond back.

"In a way," Ainz replied simply, deciding not to get into a long story about undead species, and his positions as its highest tier. "So, you're… Ghouls? Why are you here?"

The Ghoul, who looked like an older man in the past, but now looked more like an ordinary monster, shook his head slightly at his words. "Yes? No? I guess that's what they call us…"

'So we've got the undead here from somewhere, too!' Ainz nodded, huh, if he were to think about it a bit, the presence of undead, the black and red clouds, the raging fire… Ainz had seen something like this somewhere before, and not just in YGGDRASIL.

"We were humans before…" Ainz barely stopped his response to the obvious. Of course, they were human, and then they became undead, that's usually how it goes. Ignoring the strange pause, the Ghoul then answered Ainz's second question. "But we failed the Holy Selection…"

"Holy Selection?" Ainz thought for a second, and finding nothing, just decided to ask. "What is that?"

"Only he who passes the Holy Selection may enter the Holy Land… " The ghoul tried to smile sardonically, failing miserably because of his appearance.

"We just wanted to eat, for a brief succor in this endless desert," Finally, the ghoul managed to give Ainz something he could work with. "We just want food and water, can you give us some?"

Ainz thought about the information he just received for a moment.

There was no point in giving out any random people supplies, even if Ainz had plenty. And seeing that even if Ainz couldn't gauge the levels of the ghoul, at least without using his abilities, but even level ten or fifteen seemed like a very generous estimate of their abilities – maybe closer to level five? Useless mobs, but… there's no point in risking it.

"Okay, but," Ainz smiled, finding the perfect solution to their shared dilemma, "Only if you tell me in return where this 'Holy Land' is…"

Excuse get!

---

Perhaps Medusa might have had a chance to hold Scáthach back – especially with Arthuria's help, that is, if they hadn't made the worst mistake possible.

They had relaxed their guard.

Accustomed to their Master's behavior, to his unexpected decisions, which all turned out to be part of a foolproof plan that worked like clockwork, they allowed themselves to be distracted for a second. Especially since there were no enemies around them, and their Master was close by as Ainz could easily deal with any threat – they allowed themselves to relax for a second and took their eyes off of Scáthach.

So Scáthach had lunged forward without a problem.

She had kept a low profile, waiting for the right moment before rushing forward.

No, Scáthach didn't think that her situation was much different than when she had first arrived in Chaldea, Ainz was still as dangerous and unkillable as ever. Perhaps fortunately, he had already proven to her that he was a dangerous opponent who should not be underestimated.

But in addition to facing a scorched wasteland that reminds her of the Land of Shadows stretching in all directions, and spotting a group of monsters approaching Ainz, Scáthach has to act. Ainz literally forced her to react to his actions.

Whether he would kill her later was a non-problem, but letting him do his dark deeds behind her back was not something she could allow him to do.

Foolishness or conviction – some of it certainly guided Scáthach the moment she, in defiance of Ainz's orders, lunged forward, bridging the distance that separated them in a split second.

Moving at a speed that any racing car would envy, she was able to assess the situation in half a split second - Ainz, still in his human form and… a dozen ghouls surrounding him.

Ghouls, huh… In a way, it was even logical to encounter such creatures near Ainz.

Ghouls, humans warped by their own hatred, anger, and despair – usually without any interference from dark magic, only the right emotions are needed. But, those emotions must be really strong to turn a person into such a creature.

A comparatively small gnat in a world of demons and dark creatures, more often serving as a servant or meat wall. Scáthach couldn't even remember how many of such things she had killed – perhaps between tens of thousands and a couple of billions. When you face endless hordes of enemies – it becomes hard enough to keep track of the number of those returned to oblivion.

Though it was the sort of creature perhaps she had expected to see as Ainz's servant. To be exact, it would have been the classic picture – ghouls were quite popular as small and numerous servants among the dark creatures of all types and ranks.

Scáthach appeared a moment later next to Ainz, wanting to at least see what exactly Ainz was trying to convey to the creatures before she would kill the ghouls and most likely die along with them. The bag and the lumps she saw made her grimace. Potion ingredients? Scrolls? Remnants of the past Masters of Chaldea?! No matter how many times she had to die, she would get to the truth and find out Ainz's weakness!

Her spear appeared in her hand a moment later and flashed towards the full bag, poised to spill its contents over.

Scáthach froze as her gaze stumbled over the contents of one of the several bags Ainz had handed over to the ghouls that they had opened to see its contents. She was expecting something grotesque…

Inside was food – bread, apples, cereals of some kind and meat – maybe human meat, of course, but it looked more like pork – she had a pretty good idea of what human remains looked like.

And then there was the water, packaged in ordinary plastic bottles.

No, of course, there was still the possibility that it was all ingredients for some kind of ritual – but it still looked more like… ordinary provisions, – the usual supplies that any caravan could use on the road.

"What!?" The reaction to Scáthach's sudden appearance came a moment later, unexpectedly from the ghoul when their brain did manage to comprehend her appearance, causing them to recoil in shock and… fear?

"We're under attack! Men to me! Give the women and children time to run!"

Children? Women? Do… Do ghouls even have genders? And how could they have children…

Scáthach knew that ghouls were created from humans, so it wouldn't be at all strange that there were women and children ghouls, but… She somehow hadn't really thought about that kind of thing before, and they sound much more lively and lucid than those ghouls she had met before.

"So it's not enough to banish us from our home, it's not enough to take away our belongings, you decided to finish what you started?!" Obviously trying to stall for time to allow some ghouls to escape – she could see, judging by their figure, the runners were two women and one child.

"Come on, come on, then child killer, and end it already! Come on, don't miss!"

She shifted her gaze from the speaker to the other remaining ghouls – and the monstrous creatures looked like… well, Monsters. But in their eyes, Scáthach could easily read their emotions.

Fear, and at the same time anger and contempt. Not the anger that remained in the eyes of the mad monsters, but the anger with which a desperate man greeting an ax murderer.

'Wait a second, why are they even reacting like that?!' She almost indignantly took a half step back. 'They're the monster, and I'm the one defending humanity – why am I being treated as the villain?!'

"Ahem, there's no need to worry, she's with me." Before the two groups could come to blows, Ainz had intervened, calming the ghouls down and preventing the women and child from going too far.

"And I'm sure she doesn't want to do anything to harm you – she just… got a little overexcited."

'And now he's making excuses for me, like I'm some petulant child!' Scáthach realized that she understood absolutely nothing of what she's seeing right now.

'Now what, am I going to get jumped on now, hoping to tear me apart? That's usually how my encounters with ghouls ended… the ones that survive anyway.'

"We should be leaving anyway – it was a pleasure meeting you, and thanks again for the information," Ainz bowed slightly, observing politeness, that monster?

"No, we should be the ones thanking you, for the supplies." The ghoul tried to smirk, but his lack of lips only made it as if he was snarling instead, before turning his gaze to her and then back to Ainz. "Just, please… don't scare people like that again."

'You're not even human, you're monsters! How are you scared!?' She wanted to shout back, but paused for a moment before she let go, holding the impulse within herself.

Ainz only nodded slightly at these words, and then set off back to the way Scáthach had arrived from at a brisk pace, while the ghouls saw him off with wary glances from their empty eye sockets. No, they were directed towards her?

Slowly, they made their way away from Scáthach, turning back from time to time, clearly still wary of exposing their backs to her.

She reacted to these actions with only an incomprehensible look, before being returned to attention, when Ainz, already a dozen yards away, drew attention to himself by clearing his throat.

Slowly, clearly trying to digest what she had just seen, Scáthach followed Ainz to the Servants, who had just now appeared on the horizon, walking relaxedly. Were they so unconcerned with her that they didn't even worry about Ainz?

They weren't really wrong, but it still irked her somewhat.

That was almost a disaster, luckily Scáthach has a good pair of eyes to go along with her speed. While he didn't really care about the ghoul one way or another as he had acquired the information he wanted, having a subordinate that was too eager was also a bad thing.

"Scáthach," Ainz said to the girl walking behind her, "Please don't scare people like that anymore, don't threaten them with weapons, and don't appear out of nowhere with an expression like you're going to kill their entire kin. I know that Ghouls aren't exactly known for their docility, but attacking out of nowhere like that, could go wrong in so many ways."

"I'm not-" Scáthach stammered for a moment before she realized something and began replying more vigorously than before. "And why am I even making excuses to you?! They're ghouls, monsters, not humans, but a threat to humanity!"

"Oh, were the ghouls especially menacing when they tried to give women and children a chance to escape? Or was it when they asked me for food?" Ainz replied, not particularly hiding his irritation as he continued to move toward the Servants.

"You remind me very much of the humans I have encountered in the past – they too killed all the non-humans they could see. Sometimes for fun, sometimes for equipment, sometimes for…"

Ainz pondered, about how he could say 'level-up' about Players without giving away details that he doesn't want people to know, before continuing neutrally. "For power."

"And let me tell you, none of them ended well," Ainz paused for a moment, looking at Scáthach before casting a slight glare, his memories of Heteromorph 'hunters' tingling his irritation a bit.

"And they were much stronger than you."

Leaving the very serious implication hanging in the air, Ainz shook his head, shedding his indignation, before he looked at the other Servants and nodded at them.

He really didn't care whether the ghouls lived or not – it's not like he feels a sense of solidarity with Heteromorphs or something like that to censure Scáthach over it. It's just that he preferred his subordinates to not adopt a hit first and worry about it later attitude.

What if they were some kind of Super Ghouls or something!? He doesn't really need Scáthach to act like Yamaiko-san, the muscle-headed Sensei… What a scary thought.

Okay, so… the Holy City, huh?

Ainz had been to a couple of these before, in YGGDRASIL, that is, he wondered what this holy city would be like this time…

---

Medb didn't care whether the loving crowds continued to follow her, she wasn't planning on stopping to wait for the ones lagging behind anyway. But in the end, she did let them go, ordering them to return to their usual activities.

The reason for this decision was Nitocris. Medb and Sita could not remember any Pharaoh by that name – and after questioning the Servant herself, she admitted that she was a minor mythical pharaoh. Her legend is marked not by her rule, but by a rather obscure legend about how she had killed the people who tried to control the pharaohs – including her previously enthroned and executed brothers.

She then committed suicide without having undergone the pharaohs' ceremonial training, a rarity which is why she is generally remembered by people, despite her small legend in relation to other greater heroes.

This same Nitocris, however, earned at least one raised eyebrow from Medb when she noticed something peculiar. Even though she was completely under the effect of her Charm Aura – and Medb could definitely confirm this – she still managed to worry about people following Medb.

Not that such a thing was impossible – in fact, it was possible to ignore Medb's Charm Aura altogether, but for someone caught by her powers to be able to think about anything other than their desire to please Medb? This was something rare.

And given that Medb's charms made others place her on a pedestal as 'the most important person in your life, before which nothing else matters' – it meant that Nitocris' subconscious thoughts placed the well-being of the people just as importantly.

After all, Medb's abilities were not mind control, directly suppressing the will, but an ability that altered the perception – just like all the illusions in her arsenal. Something which meant that her subordinates were still capable of their own reactions and even free will. And that, in turn, also meant that the crowds moving behind her forced Nitocris to constantly slow down in order to wait for the ones lagging behind, to see if they could keep going, and other things.

No, as queen, Medb even understood Nitocris' thoughts. And besides, the people no longer mattered when she already had a guide anyway. So, without much trouble, Medb let the people go back to their lives – letting Nitocris lead Medb and Sita forward to the palace, and their goal.

Towards the King of Kings and Pharaoh of Pharaohs, Ramses the Second, nicknamed Ozymandias, the so-called 'perfect king'.

Judging by the incessant homage Nitocris was giving him, he's something between a mentor and a father figure to Nitocris, with a serious dash of sycophancy from a schoolgirl who just opened a male-model magazine.

Not that Medb herself should talk about such things… the pot calling the kettle black and all that.

In any case, it didn't take long for Medb to reach her destination, ignoring her surroundings and taking advantage of the Servants' powers, her destination was on the horizon in just a few minutes.

All of her long life, excluding her rather brief period of exile and removal from the throne, Medb has spent her entire life inside her palace – a palace very much in keeping with her status. It was made of huge vestibules of Lunar marble, with Lunar silver making most of her many decorations. Its architecture was designed by Skadi's own hand, with hundreds of her subordinate servants inside obeying her every whim.

Her palace was a palace that truly suited her status, something that would make any observer marvel at the ephemeral beauty of her personal fiefdom – even when one just saw the outside facade. Once inside, however, the opulence and beauty of her palace could drive a mere man mad long before he even took a step toward her throne room.

In other words, it was a dwelling that matched her perfectly, so beautiful that comparing any other palace to hers, Medb could only contemptuously grin, conveying her true feelings better than hundreds of insults, but…

"Not bad," Medb concluded from a glance at the Palace of Ozymandias.

Titanic in its size, stretching far and wide like a city, the palace was constructed like a temple. Dozens of stelae and monuments rose into the heavens, creating a single composition, while glints of blackened steel strolled across the outer walls, assembled on top of yellow-orange desert stones.

As they neared the palace, Medb could feel that the air seemed to be saturated with some unearthly power and almost hummed with tension, as if some kind of energy was saturating the air. And as they got close, some invisible force seemed to bear on the trio.

After walking a few more steps, suddenly Medb's palanquin stopped moving – and to Sita's surprise, it was lowered to the ground.

Medb's charms had ceased a little earlier.

This action causes Nitocris, who had just wanted to take Medb inside and introduce her to Ozymandias, to freeze in incomprehension, trying to rationalize both the rush of her feelings and their sudden end. As Nitocris tried to understand what's happening, Medb herself rose from her palanquin, then as soon as her feet took a step out of the palanquin it melted away like a mirage.

Leaving Medb and her not at all imposing height alone in front of a gate of black blued steel, slowly gleaming.

Unlike many of the Servants and creatures of Yggdrasil that Ainz was familiar with, and especially those he had summoned, Medb was not cruel or even particularly evil – her Karma was kept fairly close to neutral zero. Sure, in some ways she was arrogant and willful, perhaps even heartless, but she was not really evil, and so she could show respect to her opponent and not start battles unnecessarily.

So, showing a considerable amount of respect, Medb had risen from her palanquin to enter the palace of Ozymandias in person with her feet.

On Medb's own part, it was also a test.

She had felt Ozymandias' gaze the moment she was near the building, which meant that he knew exactly of her arrival, not to mention the fact that the surrounding environment was completely saturated with his power.

And so Ozymandias was in control of his palace, just as he had seen her appearance.

In this case, Medb had to test his vision – could he see, in her demeanor, a sign of respect and her willingness to initiate dialogue? Did he deserve his titles, King of Kings and Pharaoh of Pharaohs, could he see her essence and understand the situation?

If now Ozymandias would not open the door even after she came to him and came down from her palanquin, if he would not show her hospitality and meet her at the gate? Then perhaps Medb had nothing more to talk about with a false king with made-up titles that he was not worthy to bear.

In that case, she would simply leave his Realm before returning here with the sole purpose of getting rid of an unnecessary Servant, interfering with the Singularity who was creating a distortion within the distortion. And more importantly, inhibiting his beloved's way.

A moment later, Medb didn't need to wait any longer, the silent and massive doors of blackened steel opened. Though, she has to amend her observation, the door was not made of steel, and in Medb's estimation, it was a metal of much higher quality and much stronger magical properties.

As the door slowly opened, it allowed Medb to see the courtyard beyond it. As it opened though, the first thing Medb noticed was the creature similar to the one on which Nitocris had arrived on – a sphinx, but not an ordinary sphinx.

Medb could see a shimmering bluish haze interspersed with light silver flashes that concealed its body and left only the outlines of its figure. That along with its size made it clear that this creature couldn't even be placed on the same stage with an ordinary sphinx. The aura of power it exudes that made Nitocris freeze, staring in incomprehension at such a being most likely thinking something along the line of 'why did it appear here?!' marks it as a powerful creature.

Sita also froze in place – but for a very different reason. The creature was indeed powerful, exuding a power no less potent than that of a truly powerful Servant, no weaker than a dragon even.

Medb only glanced at the frozen Sita, then shifted her gaze slightly to Nitocris, clearly conveying instructions to look behind the girl who had just been freed from her enchantment before stepping inside.

The fact that Ozymandias did not greet her himself was a violation of etiquette – an equal should greet an equal. But, judging by Nitocris' reaction, it can only mean that the Sphinx was the highest ranking and most powerful of Ozymandias' servants. This in turn meant that Ozymandias did not perceive Medb as a mere Servant – a mere Sphinx would be enough to see off a mere Servant – or they could be left without guides at all.

And thus Medb could delay her assessment of Ozymandias.

If he considered her to be someone important, but below Ozymandias himself in the hierarchy, and therefore unworthy of his personal appearance? Medb would at least try to engage in a dialogue with him, albeit with a greatly reduced opinion of him.

If there were other reasons preventing Ozymandias himself from welcoming Medb…

Who knows, though certainly not to the level of Momonga, but she could at least give a little bit of respect back.

---

Excerpt from The Great Migration: A History of Immigration in the United States:

… Thanks to the mutual aid of community members, no small number of political positions were taken by members of certain nationalities, which in turn created resentment from members of the other nationalities of the United States. Such resentment led to a split in US domestic politics for a long time, though perhaps not without reasons.

A sticking point, in particular, was the existence of criminal gangs who consisted almost entirely of minorities – a rather famous one being the Sons of Ireland.

The criminal group were guilty of multiple skirmishes with the police, including some that can without exaggeration be described as full-blown battles. This along with the smattering of domestic terror acts, and even an assassination attempt by the semi-legendary Irish hired assassin, known by his alias of Cu Chulain's Alter-ego, towards the President, didn't help matters.

The last matter happened in a time of chaos, with many people going missing and properties destroyed, something that was exacerbated by the President's death.

However, some historians also claim that the murder of the sixteenth President of the United States, Thomas Edison, may in fact be the work of another semi-legendary criminal mastermind, the famous outlaw of the Wild West 'Scáthach'. This theory, however, was mostly put forward according to eyewitness accounts by people of mostly Irish descent, and thus was highly disputed.

Of course, the supposed assassin's identity is still in a hot debate.

The supposed assassin, Alter Ego, was found dead, and only by accident at that, his time of death impossible to determine as it was found in a horrible condition. According to the coroner's report at the time, 'it was as if someone tried to get rid of the body by drowning it in a vat of acid'. The finding makes it difficult to determine if Alter Ego was responsible for the President's death, or if he was already dead by the time that the President was assassinated.

On the other hand, the other suspected culprit, Scáthach, was never seen again after the chaos at all. Something which for a long time generated speculation about her continued life, about her migration back to Ireland, and even about her supposed immortality…

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 119: Where are we?

As she followed behind the beast, who just by appearance alone exudes a powerful presence, Sita knew that she should not attend the meeting between Medb and Ramses.

No, it wasn't that Sita was afraid of accidentally violating diplomatic protocol of any kind. On the contrary, Sita was superbly educated in all kinds of meetings and royal protocol – as much as her relations with Rama would later turn out, her divine origin aside, she was still a queen.

Rather, her knowledge was the reason Sita understood that she should not be present at the meeting between Medb and Ramses. She was weakening Medb's position in the negotiations, she was simply too weak to be present in the negotiations.

Any way you look at it, they were not in a good position to bargain. After all, from Ramses' point of view, he just had two unknown Servant waltz into his territory, and had attacked the populace, even one of his own lieutenants, Nitocris, would you want to open negotiations, then?. Luckily, it seems that because the damage was not permanent, and was easily reversed, negotiation was still possible, if at a more precarious position. And seeing that they're going inside the heart of Ramses' territory, in the grasp of some kind of Noble Phantasm of his, any mistake would be disastrous.

Also, as they're in the position of 'guests', their negotiating position was already weaker, so Sita wanted to gain any possible advantage. In any situation, even excluding all the preceding factors, the petitioner who went to the meeting in person, coming to his patron's house, was in a position knowingly weaker than the patron's position. Of course, in such a case, the patron was bound by the traditions of hospitality – as long as the other party did not violate etiquette strongly enough to tip the scales in favor of protecting his dignity.

The one receiving the guest had to demonstrate his generosity.

This did not serve to equalize the position of the beggar and the giver, but rather elevated the giver's position even higher. Adding to the weight to he whose meeting is sought, demonstrating a magnanimity of he who can bestow his presence even to the guest who came to him first.

Not that this situation is immutable, there were many factors influencing which speaker was in a stronger or weaker position – by title, knowledge of etiquette, luxury, gifts, intelligence, charisma, eloquence, wordplay, everything down to personal power.

Not that a powerful entity barging into a king's palace would look polite. But if said king did not possess enough power to easily throw an uninvited guest out of his palace, it certainly affected the balance of power in the conversation.

Medb had quite a few characteristics that would have seriously strengthened her position, from her looks to her personal strength – but in the case of negotiation, Sita's contribution was well below Medb. In other words, Medb's position would be seriously weakened by Sita's presence.

Of course, Sita could act as Medb's entourage. But that would mean that Sita herself would become primarily Medb's subordinate, which would cast a shadow over Ainz, who considered both of them his Servants. If Sita accepted a subordinate position now, it would endanger her chances of receiving credit for her work in the future, and thus would create a conflict of power between her and Medb. Something which Medb could not accept in any case.

She would sooner be known as a brainless savage than allow a shadow to fall on her lover, of which Sita was certain, and with which Sita herself could fully agree with. Simply because by taking a subordinate position, it meant that Sita had no right to her own voice, opinion, or action – anything Sita did from this point on would primarily concern Medb and be determined by her words and orders.

Which is unacceptable.

Besides, just one Sita alone was not the luxurious entourage a monarch is supposed to have, rather creating an even more pathetic and comical hue with her presence as an entourage of one middle-level Servant.

And the list of reasons why Sita shouldn't be here could go on and on – but the bottom line was simple, Sita had to stay out of Medb and Ramses' conversation, for her own sake and theirs.

Nitocris also had to be left out of the conversation – but for a different reason entirely. If Sita didn't want Medb's position to be weakened, she certainly didn't want Ramses' position to be strengthened.

Ramses, who is in the lead in the negotiation – did not need to show off his power as Medb needed to, to make the other side consider his position more solid. He was already above Medb by the fact that he was in his territory, in his kingdom, palace and throne room. Nitocris, in this case, was not an embarrassingly small entourage for him. Especially considering that he was in his own territory, where his entourage was his entire territory and all its inhabitants, not to mention the sphinxes, which he had already demonstrated their power of.

Which meant that every extra person only strengthened his position.

Not to mention that the presence of Nitocris, who had been enchanted moments ago and was now in a state of confusion about what was going on, could create a problem for Medb with her mere presence.

Luckily for Medb, however, Sita was well aware of these things, and so as she approached the door Sita took a step toward Nitocris, causing her to automatically look away from her. Another proof of her inexperience, in diplomatic settings it would have been considered rude or a violation of etiquette, even if only a small one, to do such a thing.

From the bewildered expression on her face, she was still trying to rationalize her feelings about Medb, which had disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. But at the same time she was not ready to question Ramses' judgment and therefore not willing to accuse Medb of anything.

Sita, however, only shook her head slightly at the faux pas, then smiled slightly as Nitocris did finally realize the picture before her. "I beg your pardon, Nitocris, this is the first time I'm meeting the great Pharaoh, Ramses himself, so I wanted to know as much about him as possible before our first meeting."

Nitocris blinked a little incomprehensibly after these words before, as if realizing something, she nodded.

Sita only smiled a little at the words that instantly flowed out of Nitocris, who immediately stopped looking behind for Medb.

Indeed, Sita even felt a little sorry to take advantage of her childlike spontaneity and trustfulness, but…

All's fair in love and war.

Even if this war was only a diplomatic war.

After all, real wars have happened over much less than a bad diplomatic reception.

---

Medb took a step toward the large carved doors leading inside the throne room before stopping.

Protocol and etiquette required that the doors be opened for her by a special servant announcing her arrival… Not that Medb saw many servants in the palace of the Pharaoh, not a single living soul, to be exact. Except for herself, Nitocris, Sita, and the serving sphinx guide, Medb hadn't seen any other servants, which is very strange for such a palatial abode.

Still, opening the doors leading inside the throne room with her own hands meant that the one entering was one who 'needed to get inside'. Begging, in other words – cementing a position of subservience even further, which in the current situation was not what Medb wanted at all.

However, if no one opens the doors for Medb, and she continues to just stand idly, not only will she look stupid – she will also give the impression that she is waiting for an 'invitation' or 'permission'. Something which would weaken her position even more.

But demanding that the doors be opened for her would not only be rude, it would also be plain stupid, considering that no other servants in Ramses' castle had been detected by Medb.

So, after waiting a second to make sure that no one planned to open the doors for her, Medb shifted her gaze to the sphinx still standing beside her. Her gaze clearly conveyed the expectation she had at the moment.

The sphinx waited half a second, checking to see if it was an accident on Medb's part, then shifted his gaze, and then the doors in front of Medb opened, allowing her to pass inside.

Ramses was just as perceptive of Medb now as she was of him, so little things like this were no accident – and Medb's position was too weak to ignore such things so easily.

No, of course Medb could use brute force, but without Ainz's unequivocal orders, it was really the last resort Medb would resort to. Force or no force, Medb didn't like to begin any acquaintance with battle. Just as she couldn't simply rid herself of the knowledge of Skadi that had been hammered inside her since her creation, so is the knowledge of a true queen's behavior and her essence.

Of course, with Ainz by her side, Medb didn't need any throne of the world or any kingdom languishing to submit to her – but that didn't mean that she was incapable of doing anything but being his shadow.

So Medb took a step inside the throne room without even trying to present herself – that was the responsibility of the host and the servants escorting her inside the hall. If the other side could not do such a simple thing – and Ramses certainly couldn't, since Medb had concealed her personal information with her skills. Something that would become a miscalculation on their part, weakening their position, and therefore playing into Medb's hands.

The throne room in which she found herself was not very large. It was large enough for anyone entering it to walk several dozen meters to the throne, but not large enough not to be able to see Ramses himself on his throne. It is a spacious room made of orange-yellow sandstone, richly decorated inside with all kinds of Egyptian-style frescoes narrating the great deeds of the pharaohs and the gods. Small palm trees lined the room, spread on either side of the blue carpeted walkway leading to the throne, just far enough away to allow any visitor to pass, and with large panoramic windows covered with a glass-like transparent material.

All of these decorations lead to the main part of the throne room – the throne itself.

Atop the couple of meters of peculiar pyramid-like staircase was a rather small and not to say overly luxurious throne made of a strange gold-like material, similar to the material that made the walls, and the same yellow-orange sandstone. It was decorated with elaborate carvings and inlaid jewels, but it did not look overly luxurious or pompous, being rather at the level of 'acceptable' for such a place and the person seated upon it.

Sitting on the throne, however, was a much more remarkable Servant than his surroundings, which was an accomplishment in and of itself.

A man approaching perhaps his third decade, but who definitely looked younger than his years, and only Medb's attentive and knowledgeable eyes made her capable of telling. He did not look really grown up according to his appearance, but his posture and gaze revealed a man who had seen a lot in his lifetime. His dark skin, fully exposed above his waist, allows anyone to see his very impressive physique. Gold and azure gloves covered his hands, with the black mannish dress below his waist and the light white cloak framed by a necklace of gold that was too large hung on his shoulders and chest, completing the ensemble. All these pale in comparison when compared to the Servant's face.

The soft, yet sharp features of his face, that made the man look somewhat effeminate and yet at the same time emphasized his masculinity. His dark brown hair with a slight glow from the sunlight dancing on it, with two gold ornaments hanging from his ears. And the Servant's main feature, his amber and honey-colored eyes, that looked at the world glinting like the sun. And yet, not with the joy or vigor with which the sun was associated, but with a majesty of experience and years, allowing everything in his gaze to enjoy its radiance. But no one can mistake that the warmth bellied, ready to turn in an instant, a gaze full of fury and chastening fire.

Medb loved that look, sadly it was nothing but embers when compared to her beloved Ainz baleful crimson eyes, though perhaps the comparison is unfair. Nothing could equal her Ainz.

Pharaoh of Pharaohs and King of Kings, Ramses the Second, the Great Ozymandias.

Now standing in front of his throne, Medb was reminded once again that her position was not exactly a strong one – with too many reasons to list. And so Medb did not have many options for what behavior she could take.

There was no way for her to apologize to Ramses at this point. By doing so, Medb would have acknowledged a 'mistake' and therefore would have been 'indebted' to Ramses. Something that needed to be compensated for, such as with a gift or her own favor or even information. She could not do such things, as that would mean that Ainz would be indirectly put in a subservient position, one needing to make amends.

Likewise, Medb had no way at this point to 'equalize' their positions by showing her fighting power. Though Ramses was bound to respect personal power, as far as Medb could judge it according to her understanding, respect was not equal to submission as she understood it. Even if Medb could easily destroy Ramses palace – it only meant that he would die in a suicide attack with a smile, but would not admit defeat. An unappealing result, one that would not give her any leeway to ask for praise from Ainz.

With simple negotiations also out of reach; his position was too strong and Medb's own was too weak, there was only one way to reach a satisfying conclusion.

The only way to avoid violence, and at the same time achieve her goal of information or allied help, was to rely on the little information Medb had been able to understand about Ramses in her brief time of observation. And to act as one of her status and intelligence is supposed to.

So, Medb would not show politeness, which Medb could not afford in current situations, but instead show deliberate hubris - Medb saw only such a way forward for herself in the current situation, without battle. If that didn't work out, well…

Medb didn't like fighting, but she remembered quite well how it was done.

So, showing no fear of Ramses' presence, Medb continued moving. Not waiting for acknowledgement of her presence, when Ramses himself would mark her presence as procedure dictate. Perhaps he would do so by raising his voice as master of the palace? Alas, that would be something that Medb wouldn't be able to learn now.

Instead, continuing to walk almost entirely to Ozymandias throne, stopping just a couple of meters before the start of the stairs to the throne, before finally pausing. Medb was now maybe five meters from Ramses herself, a distance sufficient to deem approaching at such a distance in the face of a king in his castle as rude. Then she spoke first, to assert her dominance. "How inhospitable are your chambers, King Ramses."

Ramses responded to Medb's words by raising one of his eyebrow slightly, letting his eyes slowly fill with some surprise, mockery, and even respect. But not responding to Medb's words, clearly aware of herself as the master of the situation and allowing Medb to continue her speech.

"I've only just come off a long road, and I don't see a single seat in front of me that would allow my feet to rest." Medb then shifted her gaze a little lower, clearly showing her direction of gaze.

"Except the chair you occupied. Don't you think, as King of this land, that you should show your hospitality and give way to a lady?"

Although the phrase was uttered by Medb with a certain sneer – it was certainly a grave rudeness, though disguised in a rather humorous way. To a lesser king, such a thing might even have been cause to execute the insolent on the spot – and so Medb had no doubt that at any moment Ramses might have become enraged at her words and attacked. Something that would disappoint her, but would definitely make any negotiations easier.

Instead, however, Ramses only grinned in surprise, after which he laughed out loud without covering his mouth, completely unconstrained and in violation of his luminous aura and powerful figure.

"Ahaha! Kuh, I haven't laughed so much in so long!" Ramses' burst of laughter lasted a few more seconds before he was able to get it under control. "Not only beautiful, but witty, a truly wonderful addition to my harem of concubines! I offer you a place, Servant!"

"Ah, I am so grateful for the offer." The thought of Ainz misunderstanding such a scene and thinking that she has loved him less caused Medb to furrow her brow slightly, but she was not one to lose composure and attack first. "But such generosity on the part of the master of the house must be rewarded – and so I will return the same offer to be part of my harem instead."

At these words Ramses, seemingly not at all annoyed by such words, only broke out again in a resounding loud laughter, before waiting a few seconds to calm himself a little.

"What a beautiful and generous offer," Ramses, who seemed in the best frame of mind imaginable, smiled broadly. "I'm so exasperated and enraged by your words that I can do nothing but laugh… Splendid, splendid, how long has it been since no one has given me such splendid entertainment!"

"Amusement, hmm?" Medb smiled a little, making sure her assumption was correct. "In that case, why doesn't Ramses himself step down from his throne, so we can have a wonderful conversation that might amuse him even more?"

"Get out of my seat?" At these words, Ramses broke into an open smile. "It doesn't matter, because even if I get off my throne, we won't be on the same level anyway."

A moment later, Ramses tilted his head slightly to the side – to Medb's gaze, it was the first time Ramses had ever changed his steely posture in any way.

And Medb's gaze instantly noticed the momentary and so insignificant change that such a change in posture had revealed.

As Ramses' head moved as his head tilted, just for a moment, it shifted a few millimeters more, his head sliding minutely off of his neck. As if his head is no longer attached to the rest of his body…

Then a moment later, Ramses returned to his usual straight posture, as if what had happened a moment ago was just a trick of the eye, causing Medb to inwardly note this.

'So this is what the real reason looks like…' Of course Ramses could not answer directly, not from his position, that he could not get up from his throne because his head was trying to fall off his neck, and so decided to respond with a light joke, making that also a response to Medb's quip. But the very fact that Ramses had shown Medb the real reason served practically an apology on his part.

Of course Ramses would never utter such words, but his action had indicated that he himself was indeed constrained by the problem, not by his perception of Medb.

Medb could respect that – but she was not content to just stand by Ramses throne like some supplicant, she has an image to maintain after all. And so after a moment, she took a half-step back, as if to take a seat on something – to be exact, on her golden throne, which instantly appeared behind her back.

"There's no need to worry." A moment later four figures appeared at the four corners of her throne that had turned into a palanquin, and after another moment they grasped the handles of her palanquin.

"I am quite capable of rising to your level myself."

A moment later, the four manifested servants synchronously lifted the palanquin upward, lifting Medb to a level where she was almost level with the Servant on the throne.

Medb smiled charmingly, as if she cared nothing for the grave faux pas bordering on lèse-majesté, and only looked into Ramses' eyes.

---

Moving through the red-hot black desert Mashu was calm… Well, no, she was certainly a little anxious – how could she not be anxious in Singularity, especially one that looked so hostile?

But at the same time, Mashu wasn't too worried – and that was primarily due to the fact that Ainz, her Master, was there.

Being near him, Mashu could not feel any worry about anything at all. Ainz was strong, so strong that when Mashu finally seemed to come to terms with his level of strength – he would, with a slight movement of his hand, turn all of Mashu's understanding upside down.

Like, for example, with her newfound immortality.

Mashu worried that she was dying? No problem, one snap of the fingers and Mashu is now immortal!

Mashu was still grateful to Ainz, but her picture of the world, already torn up and barely put back together more than once, was torn again – because Ainz was even more powerful than she first thought.

And, of course, this realization didn't particularly help to build theories of 'who Ainz was', but that was more Da Vinci's primary interest, not Mashu's. Besides, such great acts went a long way toward reassuring Mashu.

Ainz was so powerful that next to him, Mashu could fear nothing – and he was also brilliant, all-knowing, and ready for all events in the world.

That was why Mashu was not particularly stressed by her current surroundings.

Yes, the world had experienced an apocalypse, and she was walking through a scorched black desert with death and horror all around her, but so what? It was pretty much business as usual in the past Singularities as well.

As long as she's next to Ainz, none of that was a problem for Mashu.

So moving through the black wasteland, Mashu wasn't even worried about the fact that she was just following Ainz, not sure where she was going at the moment – who cared? If Ainz was leading them, then he knew exactly where they needed to go, when they would arrive, and how.

She had to admit, though, that the surrounding scenery was not conducive to observing nature and enjoying the views. After just a few minutes of watching the horrifying picture of the apocalypse, the unchanging landscape had bored Mashu, causing her to turn her head around in an attempt to find a source of entertainment.

Maybe she could bother Scáthach? No… absolutely not her.

Scáthach looked as if she were half a step away from skewering someone on her spear, and there was a good chance that she wouldn't be particularly picky in her choice of targets.

And Scáthach was continuing to glare at Ainz as they walked – something that she had been doing ever since her summoning. Even in Chaldea, whenever she appeared in the same place as Ainz, she would glare at him, obviously trying to find an opportunity to kill him, and not finding one, she began to think out her plans again.

No, the very fact that Scáthach was clearly expecting to finish off Ainz was already seriously affecting Mashu's perception and seriously reducing her desire to communicate with Scáthach.

If Scáthach was out, then, um.

Mashu eyes then found Arthuria, silently continuing to follow Ainz.

'You have a better chance of getting answers from a stone than from her.' Galahad, whom Mashu could not forget even in her dreams, answered Mashu's unasked question, making her sigh.

What a strange irony, Mashu, who possessed the strength and even the personality of Galahad in her head, a knight of the round table, a stone's throw from the legendary King Arthur. And they might as well be worlds away, their chance of communication so low

It would seem that they should have so many topics in common, so many memories that Galahad could share through Mashu, so much in common and so many topics from the past that they had once not discussed.

And yet, Mashu had absolutely nothing to talk about with Arthuria!

That is to say, the reason was first and foremost that Mashu herself was not even the real Servant, but simply used the abilities of Galahad, a true Servant and a true Knight of the Round Table.

But the second and also important reason was that she was not the legendary King Arthur – this was Arthuria, the Black King of Britain, the Alter Version of King Arthur, changed in her essence, her thinking, and her actions.

And, more importantly, in her desire to talk.

Mashu just couldn't think of a decent conversation starter with her.

'Try discussing something about food,' Galahad prompted Mashu. 'Somehow, I'm pretty sure that will work…'

Mashu thought about it for a second – Arthuria has clearly demonstrated her love of food on more than a few occasions, on some days completely monopolizing Archer's attention. But to talk about food? What kind of discussion could one have about food!?

Not that Mashu had other conversation topics to discuss, though, other than discussing matters of the day, like the Singularities. As a test-tube child raised completely inside the confines of Chaldea, Mashu had never even seen the outside! And therefore could only navigate the conversation by the information she picked up from books. So talking with Arthuria was out.

Mashu's gaze shifted again, this time to Medusa.

What about Medusa? She seemed quite open to conversations…

''Also, you're going to have a very interesting discussion with that one about your relationship with Ainz sooner or later.' Galahad's comment suddenly made Mashu feel a shudder running through her spine. 'Don't worry, I'll cover my ears and eyes.'

Mashu sighed, then gritted her teeth as she shifted her stride slightly to get closer to Medusa, but only made it halfway before the sudden realization that they were suddenly not alone anymore made her stop. A moment later, though, the other Servants did, too.

Ainz, who had been walking calmly, shifted his gaze, then glanced toward the rocks in the distance.

After a moment, there was first a loud sigh from behind the pile of rocks, and then Mashu saw a middle-aged man emerge from there… Probably.

His figure was covered by a black cloak, already familiar enough to Mashu, that looked more like tattered rags, and his body itself had almost coal-black skin only further accentuating his white, skull-like mask.

"I suppose it was foolish to count on stealth when it has never been my forte." The voice came from what looked like a middle-aged man, but it was impossible to tell his age from his appearance alone. His voice was the only reference point in this regard. "Fighting, incidentally, is not my forte either, so I suggest we just talk…"

After waiting a few seconds, and finding that none of the Servants had rushed to attack him, he exhaled once more. "I'm sorry, but you are currently trespassing on our territory, the territory of the Old Man Of The Mountain, our Assassin Sect, so may I ask for your reason to do so?"

"The Assassin Sect territory?" Ainz suddenly asked in a confused tone of voice, as if he wasn't going there in the first place. "Ahem, and the Holy City? Is it near?"

The Hassan, though Mashu couldn't really tell which one, was clearly somewhat surprised and confused by the question, and was deep in thought for a moment before answering. "It's about twenty kilometers north from here, and our territories are contiguous. So, no, the Holy City is nowhere near."

"Ah, well," Ainz, sounding somehow relieved by this statement, smiled at the Hassan – and with his appearance he couldn't have been anyone else – before nodding, "Well, if so… Lead the way then."

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 120: Lost

Ainz's slow walk through the wasteland, devoid of any sign of life except for the guide moving ahead, was not particularly productive of new information. At the very least, it gave abundant time for Ainz to organize his mind, something that was very ill-supplied as of late as he kept running headlong into his subordinates' troubles.

'Not that I'm not pleased to find myself involved in the lives of my subordinates, the Servants.' Ainz sighed – 'But a little time to myself isn't bad either…'

In recent days – weeks even - Ainz had barely found time to do anything on his personal list of things he wanted or needed to do, while the list of things just kept getting longer and longer.

The very first item on that list, one that he had planned to do many weeks ago, was the need for Ainz to find some book on personnel management. He had found a couple of them in the past – but still could never find the time to study them. He was constantly either being caught up in his subordinates' problems or being distracted by other things – like traveling through Singularity in the past. While traveling through Singularities was an enjoyable pastime, if one wrought in danger, he didn't consider it time badly spent.

He could go back to studying the books at any time, but he couldn't always enjoy the vista of the past in person.

Furthermore, since every Singularity took him to a different time period, he had only one chance to enjoy his travels, and he would lose that chance once he solved the Singularity. Something which made him even more reluctant to waste his time in the Singularity reading books.

'Huh, I guess this guy Ainz, who everyone says so much about, that he's incredibly smart and all his plans work like clockwork, really did have amazing foresight.' Ainz chuckled slightly at his joke, whose humor would probably have been lost if he had told someone else about it.

'Besides, let's just consider this as all part of my paid vacation. After all, I'd worked for weeks on end and deserved at least a day off… I hope I will be getting paid for this. Not that I'm saving the world for profit, but I wouldn't want to end up penniless either! Especially with his many romantic entanglements, he would need a good egg nest for the future, lest he end up bankrupt in short order after he finished his work with Chaldea. After all, there's no way that another World Ending Event would happen so shortly after the previous one, if there's even another one, right?'

Ainz imagined a situation in which he would not be offered even a modest payment for his actions in saving the world and sighed. What would he do in such a case?

Selling his items… If they were items from his inventory, if he could find things that he could sell, he could get some money that way, right? At the very least, if he got rid of the most useless items, he could earn some – selling items from Nazarick was completely forbidden, however… As silly as using such a powerful spell for such a mundane job would be, it still could be a profitable endeavor, he wouldn't do it though.

After all, how would Nazarick react to something like that? What would happen if he sold an item from Nazarick, once it had manifested itself in this world, and then removed Nazarick's presence afterward? Will the item he sold disappear? Will it disappear if Ainz doesn't sell it, but just gives it away or leaves it lying on the ground outside Nazarick? What about if he sold some furniture from Nazarick? The tomb would restore some of his interior daily as a method of self-repair, depending on the price of what exactly he had to restore, what would happen?

Ainz imagined himself as a home furnishing salesman for a second and shook his head, dispelling the thought.

Maybe he could perform magic as a method of gaining employment? Ainz rated himself highly competent relative to the current overall level of strength of the world so far, his ignorance of how his magic work notwithstanding – so what if he offers some magic services? Ainz's mana reserves allowed him to use numerous spells, some of which could be useful outside of combat, his various buff spells, for instance. Though, as a YGGDRASIL player was supposed to be, he was far more suited to combat than anything more peaceful, as even the Production specialists needed some firepower.

However, after once again banishing that thought, Ainz reassured himself that he was definitely entitled to some reward for his labors, and definitely so for saving the world, going forward – so such thoughts were not necessary. For now.

Technically speaking, Ainz, being Undead and a powerful mage – by local standards, at least – could afford an existence without money. He didn't need sleep, he didn't get tired, he didn't need to eat or drink, and his body didn't age, so he doesn't need the normal expenditure for one's livelihood. With his equipment having the wonderful property of automatic repair thanks to his mana, Ainz could afford to exist without money, but…

That would just be sad – and would cause considerable resentment and irritation in Ainz – something like thinking, 'After all I've done for you!'. To receive no rewards whatsoever for the effort he puts into an endeavor was an irritating thought.

Maybe he should ask Olga? Not for a paycheck though, it's not like he could spend it anywhere now… Although maybe not, asking something as inappropriate as wages when she was busy trying to save the world would only irritate her.

'I hope I don't turn into a dragon with my desire to collect treasure, like in that one fairy tale. Volsunga Saga, I think?' Ainz shook his head.

Hmm, now that he thinks about it, the movement of Ainz and his group, along with their guide, was quite leisurely. While they were moving fast enough, they could definitely move faster, the Servant in front of him either didn't have the usual Servant abilities, like their high speed, or for some particular reason chose not to use those. Something which annoyed Ainz a bit, making him feel as if he was seeing a loading screen in front of him. Still, because it also allowed Ainz to enjoy the time he had been complaining about not even having recently, he'll let it pass.

Well, putting aside his worries about monetary compensation for his labors aside, Ainz could return to his long list of problems.

Excluding him, reading personnel management books on the go – what's next then?

Ainz never found out what exactly brought him to this world, changing his body's condition into that of an undead, abilities and other factors along with it. Not that Ainz could in any way find out at the moment, however, being busy with questions of Singularities and the destruction of humanity. Plus, he had not a single clue as far as research into such a vast and strange matter was concerned.

If you think about it, the power that brought Ainz into this world had to be far greater than his own, given the change in his essence and his abilities. The comparison had to be made not even with the World Class Items or the World Enemies, but with someone who wielded power beyond what is possible in YGGDRASIL's view.

In other words, it had to be someone capable of influencing not just the world constants, but the very essence of the game, the admins, or the developers… But they were only normal people, as far as Ainz knew anyway. However, what about when it was not just a game, but the real world?

Who would be the developer of the real world in such a case…

The thought of God, an all-powerful God – appeared in Ainz's mind for a second, causing him to sigh.

If that was the case, there was nothing he could do to oppose such a being, if he really existed. But that was just one possibility amongst many – it could all be a completely random coincidence, for all he knows, some exception to the rules of nature and a million other reasons, just enumerating it, Ainz could feel his stomach begin to curl into an unpleasant tight knot.

Ainz didn't consider himself a religious man, not many people in his social circle considered themselves one really, and he didn't think that even when confronted with an almost omnipotent being he would change his viewpoint. All-powerful or not, Ainz lacked that spark of belief that some abstract being or concept, albeit one endowed with omnipotence, was exactly the kind of god that the rare believers said he did know.

Power did not make anyone a god, nor did a name or character… 'God' might have been an appropriate name for such a being, but there was nothing special put into that name by Ainz. And the thought of what exactly the being has to do for Ainz to consider him a 'real' god only made his stomach twist again before he dismissed that thought as well.

Nothing good comes with an interaction with a god, as proved by all the heroes he could now personally talk to.

What else, hmm? From the looks of it, if Ainz was approaching a mystical Assassin territory – he certainly couldn't judge it with confidence, he has time in other words before he has to prepare himself.

The third question he had was a question that had appeared in his mind with Angrboda's appearance in Chaldea. It was a question about his past and YGGDRASIL.

Until the moment of his conversation with Angrboda, Ainz had not given much thought to what exactly his actions in the past meant regarding his present. As far as he knew and was sure – he was just playing a game with his friends, after which he found himself in the body of his game avatar in another world with his old abilities.

Of course, the reactions of the NPCs and bosses from YGGDRASIL came to him as a great surprise, along with the fact that the NPCs and bosses themselves had changed. But their talks of world destruction, historical changes and the like, were already insane enough for him to choose to ignore the reactions of the past mindless mobs. He was so quickly convinced that his memories and those of former mobs were about the same as his. Though, his perception of mobs had certainly changed.

It would probably be quite normal to expect such a reaction from anyone if they once realized that you had killed his various versions thousands of times. Either for farming gold and rare ingredients, or trying to knock out a ridiculously rare and very powerful full set that seemed to fall just when none of the players were farming it, he had killed them numerous times.

However, Angrboda drew attention to another aspect, an aspect that Ainz hadn't thought about before.

What exactly was he doing in YGGDRASIL?

The things Angrboda spoke of were not possible in YGGDRASIL for a multitude of reasons – and Ainz naturally had no recollection of doing them. He technically could not have committed them at all!

But Angrboda spoke of them as a matter of course, treating them not just as something she was supposed to know, but as events of which she was a witness to.

This in turn posed a big problem for Ainz because it meant that he could not even rely completely on his memory as far as YGGDRASIL was concerned.

Which flowed smoothly into the fourth problem that Ainz saw before him – what did he even remember from YGGDRASIL, and how exactly should it be interpreted?

In YGGDRASIL Ainz 'lived' FOR twelve years and during that time he experienced an incredible number of adventures, quests of all types, battles, raids, dungeons, customization of NPCs and support of Nazarick. Even if Ainz simply began to list not all, but only the most significant and noticeable events in which he had participated in, it would take not hours but weeks of retelling. And in the end, he probably could not remember even half.

Not to mention, the tens of thousands of things that Ainz hadn't even thought about remembering. Could his old mentor-lich, to whom he had once stacked a total of about a hundred different magic crystals while learning classes and spells, be summoned as a Servant? With the Noble Phantasm from the hundred magic crystals that Ainz had brought him?

It was a silly, yet even slightly frightening thought.

However, after concentrating again, Ainz dispelled the thought of the random hide merchant he might have met in YGGDRASIL being summoned, instead choosing to focus on how his actions in the game could be transferred to the real world.

In the game, Ainz… Was pretty much like a lot of other Players. He would fool around with his guild mates, do quests, complain about new patches, and happily jump at any chance to get rare equipment, and he would breathe rage after getting another full raid wipe against bosses.

But none of that came up from the retelling of the former NPCs, people that paradoxically speaking he had spent more time with than his friends… One way or another.

Come to think of it, would Nazarick's NPCs remember anything like that? When he had first come to learn that he could summon the tomb, Ainz hesitated to summon Nazarick, fearing that at this point, all his life goals would be fulfilled. Something that quite possibly would make even saving humanity would cease to be an issue of concern to him.

On the other hand, Nazarick could seriously help Ainz in solving his problems. But still, doing so still carried unacceptable risks that Ainz could not afford. After thinking for a moment, Ainz framed the thought before carefully putting it aside, deciding to return to it later.

So, if the summoned NPCs seemed to be unaware of some very common concepts from YGGDRASIL and did not mention what Ainz was actually doing in the game, it could only mean one thing. Excluding the possibility that they simply chose to remain silent, the only option left was that Ainz's actions looked very different to the NPCs – not only in terms of motives, but also in terms of 'what exactly those actions were'.

Angrboda mentioned that Peroroncino captured many girls during one of the raids, and, of course, nothing like that happened in YGGDRASIL – and there were no quests or raids that he remembered where such things were an objective. Simply by design.

Even knowing that he was an unrepentant pervert, Peroroncino was not a bad man. Despite his love of eroge and somewhat deviant tastes – exemplified, for example, by Shalltear - he was a kind man and a good friend, easily finding common ground with both Ainz and even Ulbert and Touch Me.

If, in real life, Peroroncino were given the chance of going on a raid – not in the game sense, but in the real sense – and were given the option of capturing several hundred women, he would not have done so. Even assuming he was intoxicated with his power – he might have created a very uncomfortable situation of insistent advances from which those captured could not so easily escape, but certainly not slavery and certainly not hundreds at once.

In other words, changing the perception of the NPC's was not about the real personalities behind the game characters. On what principle were they actually changed?

Going back to the previous thought. If Peroroncino was playing a game, and there was an option to go on a raid – and Peroroncino himself knew perfectly well that it was a game, and the girls in front of him were just lines of code… Then yes, Peroroncino would definitely do so, in fact there are some eroges with something like that as a premise that he had loudly exclaimed its greatness. No, he would definitely choose that option, just because he liked it.

What he would never have allowed himself in the real world, while in a game, was something normal, that's what games were made for. They were made to get away from the sad gray reality outside the window and to be a little something you weren't – a mighty warrior, a dark mage, or just a man with a girl.

Ainz - Momonga - Satoru Suzuki was not so different, having picked an undead mage as his game avatar. Why? Because he wanted to be one – a necromancer possessing powerful magic, inhuman ambition, an eternity of research and accumulation of power, and black forbidden power that strikes fear into enemies.

In other words, when Ainz first started playing YGGDRASIL – he suddenly suffered a relapse of eighth-grade syndrome.

It passed quickly enough – but not before he'd created his own NPC, Pandora's Actor, as the guardian of Nazarick's treasury with qualities that could only call cringe as his disease passed. And by then, Ainz was too used to his character as a Necromancer, as the Eclipse – especially considering that he really liked his race and the classes he picked up. He even had picked up excellent equipment for his build, and had fully learned how to press his advantage, he even did well in PvP even with a role-play build.

He simply didn't want to change the character he was already so much involved with. And you could only keep one character in YGGDRASIL anyway.

However, in that short time of him being the 'real darkest mage' and a few attempts at role-play guilds – it was the feeling of unease from those that dissuaded Ainz from his delusions at the end. Ainz roughly understood the role he would occupy in the theoretical world in which he would exist if YGGDRASIL were all reality, and not just a game.

As you could easily guess – in that light, Ainz was not a bright and kind existence at all.

Ainz was a little ashamed to remember his past from those days, but for the sake of an important experiment and for his own understanding, he had to do it.

Ainz mentally sighed, as if a weightlifter standing in front of a huge barbell before diving into the maelstrom of his own memory.

In the game, Ainz had passed himself off as a powerful lich – a black mage without a shred of human compassion or empathy. One that operated solely from his own understanding of efficiency and prone to mock other beings, be they stronger or weaker than him. He even constantly used cliché phrases like 'useless, useless – you are so weak…' or 'look into the eyes of death, and regret every day of the life you lived that brought you here!'

No! Ainz even remembered the worst of all – 'this magic is too great for a lowlife like you… I'm glad I used the weakest of all – puny mortal…'

The shame burned his nonexistent heart, and only the suppression of emotion could spare him from the pain rising in his soul, allowing him to silently exhale and continue his reflection.

And so, if Ainz had found himself in the aforementioned conditions at the beginning of YGGDRASIL that had turned real – he would have behaved exactly like that. He would hand out some meaningless orders left and right, mocking the heroes and acting as if he were the most powerful and cunning and intelligent black mage in the world. As he sat at his throne with everyone else not worth even one look at him.

A great wave of shame nearly gripped Ainz, but before it could run its full course it ran into the impenetrable wall of Suppression of Emotion.

So, with that in mind, he was probably remembered by the people of YGGDRASIL as just something like that – the most stereotypical villain of them all… He was even an undead mage made of bones to complete the image!

Medb, though, didn't say anything like that about his actions – talking about Ainz's quest with her instead. He probably also had behaved like some low-budget villain in that quest as well – but unlikely in relation to Medb herself, given that the terms of the quest were very unambiguous. He, from Medb's own perspective, went on the great feat of installing herself back on the throne without ever having even seen Finvarra before.

In other words, while he would still be killing people with some smug one-liners like 'wretched mortals, you will never understand the depth of my power!' He was killing opponents in defense of Medb.

At least Ainz could applaud the fact that he didn't come off as a complete misanthrope and still did at least a few relatively good deeds – at least to some people.

At that moment, a great thunder rumbled in his ears, and he couldn't help but shiver uncontrollably, in his mind at least – what if he could summon himself from YGGDRASIL? The cringe-line spouting him that had created Pandora's Actor and had thought that it was the coolest thing ever?

He needed to find a sure-fire way to kill him before he could ruin his image in his colleague's eyes!

Relegating that scary thought for his nightmares, Ainz instead tried to remember more about his past actions in YGGDRASIL to distract himself.

For the last few years in YGGDRASIL, he had been doing quests mechanically, not even reading into their descriptions, just looking at the conditions of success and then collecting the loot. But if Ainz strained his memories, he might remember a few of them.

Medb's quests he remembered because they were Medb's quests – they were unforgettable in the worst of ways – but what other quests had he managed to complete on his own that he could remember?

Ainz was trying to remember, before the voice of his guide, whose existence he had already forgotten, brought him out of his musings. "Well, here we are…"

Ainz blinked in surprise, and found that his eyes were quite irritated. He wondered if he had forgotten to blink because of his undead nature when he was immersed in his thoughts. Another thing to experiment later – he looked up, momentarily surprised as he came to see a relatively low mountains ahead of him and the small village nestled at the foot of the mountain.

"It is not our original fortress," Hassan shook his head at these words. "But there have been some problems with it ever since the Queen of Assyria made her claim, so we had to abandon it and look for another place for convenience, but…"

After saying that, the Hassan was suddenly silent, afraid he'd said something unnecessary, and then he exhaled. "Anyway, there's no one left alive there."

"It doesn't look like an ordinary village," Medusa, who took a step toward Ainz, said with a certainty that made Ainz nod as if he knew something about distinguishing between 'ordinary' and 'unusual' villages.

"Did you notice, then?" Hassan's words clearly conveyed an almost disarming smile in the tone of his voice – although one could only judge it by the tone of his voice, as his face was fully covered. "Yes, it's the refugees. The ones who didn't make it to the Holy City… Or couldn't find the strength to make the journey."

Ainz peered intently into the town for a moment, trying to see if his skills would detect undead like the one he'd met earlier that hadn't passed the Holy Selections either, but there were no undead in the village.

"There's a hundred, maybe a hundred and a half, if more came in while I was away." Hassan sighed. "All right, I think you can make it from here, I'll see you out – but I still have to get to Pharaoh… The Administrator will fill you in, if you want to know anything."

'Administrator?' Ainz's mind stumbled over his earlier thoughts about god at that name, but he brushed those thoughts aside again. 'I wonder how many Hassan even exist in nature?'

Ainz did not dwell on this thought for long, heading forward toward the small village, while trying to look for anyone who might look like Hassan the Administrator… Hassan of Administration? How should his title be styled?

Such a figure emerged quickly enough – and he was another cobalt-black man with a white Hassan mask. He was standing next to groups of moving people as he was clearly issuing instructions to the people moving around, commanding something at them.

'I'm bad at communicating with important people,' Ainz sighed inwardly – for the umpteenth time in the Singularity? Ainz stopped counting after a hundred.

'Besides, I was originally headed toward Holy City in the first place… Maybe just turn around and head in a direction? But which way?!'

"It's strange," Medusa's voice distracted Ainz again, making him turn around. "When I look at him, I see the same Hassan who brought us here… And yet he's very different. I've never seen anything like it before."

Medusa's words were clearly not directed at anyone in particular, but in a way that could be heard by everyone around him.

Ainz looked up for a second before he shrugged – again mentally. 'Perhaps it's a case of all the Hassan? They all look similar enough – except Serenity… so possibly only those of the same gender look the same? Although, Medusa must have seen the Assassins before – but she only reacted now… Is there something wrong with these two particular Assassins?'

Administrator, obviously noticing the appearance of Ainz and the Servants, managed to give a few orders before turning to Ainz. "I'll say this at least, you do not look like refugees, and since you were brought by the Diplomat, then you are also not the knights of the monster with three heads. So? What do you want, well, I'm listening."

"Monster with three heads?" Ainz asked aloud before he started thinking for a moment, trying to remember if he knew any mythical creatures with three heads.

At these words, the Administrator only moved his hands forward of his chest before he held them out as if he were stroking a sphere.

"Ah, those heads…" Ainz sighed. Judging by the volume the Administrator had shown, the words about the three heads could indeed be real. Or the man was seriously exaggerating certain traits of this 'someone's' physiology.

"Either way – we're only here for information…" Ainz didn't have time to finish his sentence before he was interrupted in a commanding voice. "Then go and annoy Spy, I have enough to do as it is – I'll have to coordinate sixty more refugees without shelter."

On that note, not caring at all anymore about Ainz's presence, the Administrator turned around and continued to give orders. Orders that, on closer listening, sounded like attempts to organize the newcomers in the more than humble village, which clearly lacked both space and a lot of other amenities.

For a second, Ainz thought about helping the Administrator as he did the previously encountered ghouls, hoping to get on his good disposition and maybe acquire some information. But he decided by the end that he would probably just go about his business from here.

Administrator - Ainz wasn't sure exactly which Assassin could stand out as an administrator, but the name certainly suited this Hassan.

Luckily, at least the Holy City was close enough to the location of the village, so it was likely that Ainz could just head there… Maybe he could even see the city with his bare eyes from here? It would make sure that he would net get lost again if he could do so, at least.

"Master," Ainz heard a voice, and it greatly surprised him. It was a voice he definitely didn't think he was going to hear anytime soon. No, he thought, quite realistically could have spent all his time in Singularity without ever hearing it.

"Arthuria?" Ainz turned with interest to find Arthuria holding out her hand with a pointed forefinger pointing somewhere in the distance.

As he swept his gaze to where Arthuria was pointing, he instantly saw a distant view of… a city? From this distance there's nothing Ainz could make out, except that he realized that he was seeing primarily the white walls of the city, not the city itself.

'Sounds like the Holy City really wasn't too far away,' Ainz exhaled, feeling his morale rising from the fact that he wouldn't miss his destination once again.

Arthuria's voice, however, spoke again. "My eyesight is not as sharp as an Archer's, but I would recognize the city even if I'm standing even farther away…"

For the first time in the long time that Ainz had known Arthuria – her voice trembled.

It was strange - Arthuria had always acted as if she didn't care about anything in this world. And perhaps she really didn't care – she hadn't even reacted to the appearance of her son – or daughter, Ainz was still not sure, before her, and just one look at the city before her made her voice… Waver.

In addition, she was hesitating – as if he was struck by indecision, wanting to say something she didn't want to say, trying to pull herself together. To gather her strength to say something important.

But in the end, Arthuria finally lowered her hand and turned to Ainz with an expression even more serious than her usual one, before she spoke the next words, sharply, as if giving a verdict of death,

"That is Camelot."

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 121: Information

The conversation between Medb and Ozymandias would probably last quite long – maybe an hour or an hour and a half? Even then, it was just long enough for Nitocris to say absolutely everything she thought necessary before Sita's first meeting with the Pharaoh of Pharaohs.

Sita even felt a little sense of sympathy for Nitocris, after all, she had been speaking non-stop for the whole time. Her speech overflowed with compliments toward Ozymandias mixed with advice of little practical use, mostly platitudes or her personal observations. Things not related to diplomatic protocol at all – she was really fired up about Sita's idea to appear before Ozymandias at her best that she simply blurted out everything she could. She was really fired up…

The only problem was that Sita, along with Medb, noticing the girl's irrepressible fanaticism and inexperience, wanted to delay the Servant, if even just for a few minutes. All so that Medb could enter the throne room first and start the conversation on her own footing. Their position was already weak enough without giving Ozymandias a fanatic zealot that would speak his praise non-stop on his side.

Now that Medb and Ozymandias were already in a meeting, Nitocris had to remain outside the throne room, so as not to break protocol and cast a shadow over Ozymandias… On the other hand, if Nitocris broke protocol and cast a shadow over Ozymandias, it would play into Medb's hands, and, by extension, into Sita's.

Originally, Sita wanted to delay Nitocris maybe a few minutes at best to allow Medb to play her game. But in the end, it was as if Nitocris wasn't a Pharaoh at all, but just a young girl meeting her favorite movie star, gushing about everything she can about the 'great' Ozymandias.

Sita was sure that in her heated speech, Nitocris had slipped some secret information in error. Or maybe she did not realize that such information must be secret?

But much more than that, a majority in fact, her speech was simply useless information.

"…and he likes the color blue combined with gold, and azure especially!" What was Sita supposed to understand about courtly manners from these words of Nitocris, except that she thought it's important to report on Ozymandias favorite color combination? How did it affect diplomatic protocol, the meeting? Nitocris might have lost the thread of thought entirely and the original question Sita had posed to her by simply jumping into long, lengthy explanations about whatever she knows about Ozymandias himself.

"I saw that he even kept a necklace of azure with gold inlays – not the kind he normally wears, gold with azure, but the opposite!"

Fortunately for Sita, who had slowly begun feeling her mind overflow with knowledge of Ozymandias, the moment Nitocris took a breath to continue speaking, she was distracted by the doors opening. Out of the door came Medb, who had taken a step outside the throne room before Nitocris froze with her mouth still open – horror replacing her previous excited expression.

Of course, Nitocris was supposed to lead Medb and Sita to the meeting – something that she had failed exceptionally. The fact that Medb, whom she was supposed to lead, was now exiting the throne room, clearly did not fit Nitocris's understanding.

Nitocris's back was turned to Sita at that moment, but she could vividly imagine dozens of conflicting emotions flashing across the girl's face at once before she abruptly closed her mouth with a click. Then she sighed, as heavily as if the very weight of heaven had fallen upon her shoulders.

Sita could only sympathize with Nitocris in response. At least, judging by the fact that Nitocris wasn't screaming, she might not have realized that she had been taken advantage of to get one over Ozymandias. Upset that she couldn't do her best work for Ozymandias, who served as something in between a god and a role model for Nitocris.

Thinking about it, Sita felt even more sympathy for the inexperienced Pharaoh.

"We've talked about all that was necessary." Medb, however, not paying much attention to Nitocris, took a step past her as if she were nothing more than a decorative statue obstructing her passage.

"Now, after I'll get the information, we'll probably have to be on our way."

Sita simply nodded as she glanced at Nitocris' still frozen form. Who was flailing her eyes around rapidly, searching for a little dark corner where she could crawl in and die quietly, torn between horror at having completely ruined Ozymandias and Medb's meeting, and shame at how she had disappointed Ozymandias.

Sita shook her head at Nitocris' actions. Albeit inexperienced and not up to the high standards she aspired to – Nitocris evoked some maternal feelings in Sita, causing her hands to reach for the top of her head herself, in a desire to calm down the awkward teenager.

"Ah right, by the way," Medb paused for a moment in front of the front door leading outside before glancing back at Sita and the young Pharaoh.

"Nitocris - you're coming with us."

---

Ainz gazed into the vague outline of the city in the distance.

Yes, as the white glow piercing the quiet clear blue sky told him, that's what a Holy City should look like. And Camelot, being the stronghold of many paladins, including Arthur himself – is definitely a holy city.

Ainz involuntarily grimaced at the memory of exactly what kind of debuffs the Camelot in YGGDRASIL would have thrown upon him with his nature – doubly so for being undead and possessing extremely evil karma. If not for Mordred disabling that annoying castle defense, the attack on Camelot would have been an impossible test for the entire Ainz Ooal Gown… Seeing that most of the members have extremely evil karma ratings.

But Mordred, thank God, had greatly helped them on that occasion, which made the only serious test for Ainz Ooal Gown was the unexpected fight with King Arthur at the end.

Ainz was suddenly struck with an idea. What was the likelihood that she could now, the Servant back in Chaldea at least, could do the same trick?

Ainz thought about it for a second, though, and only shook his head before exhaling. Even if she could, seeing that he can't exactly summon her into the Singularity, it's a moot point. This is why information gathering is the bedrock of all tactics – the right tool for the job makes all things a lot easier.

So a holy city, and the Assassin sect right smack dab next to it… What a strange combination.

The best thing to do now was probably to use long-range surveillance magic to see what he might be dealing with. Ainz wasn't exactly an expert at that field, of course, but he knew a couple of suitable spells and had a large set of all sorts of artifacts that could function in that role… Not really all that well actually, at least he could block any counter-surveillance measure?

The more he thinks about it, the worse the idea sounds.

If Merlin was in Camelot, it was almost impossible to conduct surveillance unnoticed. Though not specialized in surveillance magic, Merlin was a boss with characteristics far superior to those of an ordinary player. Even if he were somehow weakened as a Servant, that still doesn't mean that does not pose a great danger.

He probably wouldn't surpass Ainz current stats, but even if the Merlin of this world might have been different from the Merlin that Ainz knew, he would still be the same troublesome court mage… Or he might even be worse.

Ainz suddenly imagined Merlin not as his usual appearance in YGGDRASIL – a dry old man with a gorgeous thick gray beard, dressed in a robe richly decorated with magical symbols, but in the form of some young boy… No, in the form of a girl!

Knowing his luck, or his lack of one, that is a very distinct possibility!

Ainz hastily dispelled that scary thought before taking a deep breath – returning his mind to the situation at hand.

What should he expect of this Camelot, then? The Knights of the Round Table presence is to be expected. Ainz knew about some of them – their names at least. Information from YGGDRASIL and from Tabula's story – but that knowledge was… Spotty at best and extremely unreliable if he were to rely on them now.

Based solely on their role in YGGDRASIL, almost all the Knights of the Round Table – with the sole exception of Mordred – were of human races, a mix of humans and elves, with extremely high positive karma.

Indeed, for players of a heteromorphic race, teachers, or even quest-issuing NPCs were a very rare existence, often needing to resort to subterfuge to seek out what, for many players, was itself a hidden quest. A hidden quest in order to get a regular one… Only those shitty devs could think of something like that.

Really, if not for the Heteromorph Races' ability to super-specialize or their extreme build flexibility, no one would be playing as one.

For players of the human races, even the demi-human races to a lesser extent, the situation was the extreme opposite. There were so many quests even if all the Human Players took one each every single day, they purely couldn't physically complete them all.

The Knights of the Round Table's quest line was just one of those things, even though they were a pretty popular choice.

Many of the knights served as teachers and sources of starter quests for many quest lines. King Arthur was probably the best teacher available for Paladins, Merlin for a druid, Tristan for an archer, Gawain for knights and Kay for magical swordsmen – just to name a few. Each and single one of them a high level NPCs in general with Arthur and Merlin full-fledged bosses, and of a high rank at that.

Lancelot had even once nearly beaten Takemikazuchi when he carelessly decided to test his new creation, the MK6 blade, on a new opponent before going up against Touch Me.

In the end, thanks to Mordred, Ainz Ooal Gown had successfully destroyed Camelot – and that achievement wasn't exactly anything special in the big picture of all his adventures.

Still, he did destroy Camelot once before – even if it had happened inside a video game that might not be a game anymore – he wondered how the Knights of Camelot would react if he mentioned it one day?

Ainz shifted his gaze to Arthuria - he wondered how she would react? And to the fact that he had personally killed a version of her from… What was the proper name for YGGDRASIL in relation to this world? A parallel world? That sounds right… Ahem, a version of her from a parallel world.

Ainz shook his head before he felt something touch his mind – one of the Servants was trying to contact him? Did they find something? The connection to Medb formed a moment later.

"Master?" Medb's seductive voice echoed inside his head. "Sita and I have met with Ozymandias and discussed some basic matters with him."

"Ozymandias?" Who is he supposed to be? Is what he wanted to ask but could not – Ainz seemed to have heard the name in the past, but the memory is eluding him right now. Still, he put those thoughts aside as he had something else more important to ask about.

"What exactly…" Before he could finish, a cold sweat broke through Ainz's entire body – that's right! He'd sent Medb ahead, 'to scout' the surroundings as it were, and he had pointed Medb in some random direction while he'd just gotten lost. How did Medb find something just by walking in some random direction!?

He even had completely forgotten about it, lost in his thoughts of Camelot, the Assassins, and the like – he just wanted to get Medb away for some time! He was expecting her to find nothing and would point her in yet another random direction!

The suppression of Emotion allowed Ainz to take control of his voice and answer Medb without any trepidation, as if he unequivocally knew exactly what he was doing. "Hmm, that was even faster than I thought it would take. "

"Really?! Does that mean that I've exceeded your expectations!?" Medb's voice in Ainz's mind suddenly broke into an enthusiastic squeak. "Am I a good girl? I am, of course I certainly am, the best even, hahaha!"

"Yes, yes, of course you are, Medb, I never doubted you." Ainz nodded involuntarily, as if Medb could see him. "In that case, hmm, since you've already dealt with… "

With a start, Ainz suddenly realized that he had forgotten the name of the person Medb just met and had just mentioned before. Of course, he was well versed with lying, so it was no issue.

"With your side – then, um… What do you think the next step should be?"

Ainz almost pumped his fist in celebration, realizing how easily he could get away with making excuses to hide his incompetence – at least with Medb.

"Ah, yes, that's right! Hehehehe, Ainz will definitely reward me for this…" Realizing that she was still communicating mentally, and that Ainz could hear everything even if she tried to 'whisper' them, Medb immediately coughed to hide her embarrassment. Given that it happened during a mental communication in which it was impossible for one to cough – Ainz was absolutely certain that Medb was blushing to the tips of her hair right now.

"Along with Nitocris and Sita, I've already gone to the ruins of Atlas. "

Ainz blinked – the ruins of Atlas? What kind of place would 'Atlas' be?

No, Ainz knew of the titan Atlas, how could he not, he had beaten him multiple times for a ring off him in the past. A ring that served him faithfully for several years that he treasured just as the Shooting Star – but back to the point, was there any place in his memory named Atlas?

Ainz couldn't think of one, but it definitely sounded important, being named after a Titan of all things.

"I can understand why you've chosen for us to go to Ozymandias while you went on to meet the Assassins. Even if he were nothing more than a pale copy of you, he would still be very dangerous to anyone unprepared to meet him. And the decision to leave the Servants to watch over Camelot? I do admit that I could appreciate the genius of it – something that I hadn't even thought of! And the decision to have Scáthach along when meeting with the Crusaders… I think I could see your plan for her…"

'What are you talking about, woman!?' Ainz felt his composure disappear instantly, thankfully before he could answer her reflexively, he managed to rein himself in. Okay, the critical thing right now, was to not forget or mix the information that Medb had provided!

"I think, the right next course of action to do, at least from my position, would be to suggest that we proceed as planned." Medb nodded, not that Ainz could see, as if to confirm her words, causing Ainz to nod back, completely by reflex.

"The Goddess will need at least a few more days, if not weeks, to prepare – she will not begin destroying the world before she has gathered all the worthy. So we have time."

What!? Something really ridiculous seemed to be mixed in the report there!

"Anyway, that's all! Love – kisses!" After a moment and a loud mental air kiss, Medb's connection with Ainz was severed, before he could ask for any clarification.

Somehow, asking for clarification of what he should have done next, only confused him more. Judging from Medb's answers, at least she had a plan? But she acted as if Ainz knew the plan too! No, what if she thought that Ainz had some kind of plan from the beginning, and she was sticking to it?!

Ainz shook his head, beginning to feel his non-existent stomach to cramp before pushing the fatalistic thoughts away.

Medb was supposed to be smart, so as long as Ainz would act according to her plan, everything should be alright! For Camelot, he was supposed to do something with the Servants alongside him? That there's someone in the Assassin sect that was a 'pale copy' of his figure? What's that supposed to mean? At least there's something concrete in sending Scáthach to the crusader state, though what she's supposed to do there remains a mystery…

It's something at least? But then there's something much more important in Medb's 'plan' that he needs to contend with. There's someone in this Singularity that reminds Medb of Ainz, probably the Ainz in YGGDRASIL, someone that reminds Medb of how Ainz acted in the game….

Ainz swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. The Ainz in YGGDRASIL, well Momonga really, might have suffered a terminal case of the chuunibyou, but he still acted as an antagonist, an Evil Lord for heroes to defeat. And so, if his clichéd behavior was to be taken entirely seriously – he would be a powerful and rather creepy man.

Ainz, frankly, didn't want to meet a man like that… At least if they did meet, he would know how best to defeat him? It is someone reminiscent of himself, after all. That still didn't mean that he wanted to meet someone like that, though! What if he started speaking in German!?

Wait… is that the image that Medb has of himself!? It's just more reason why he didn't want to meet this so-called 'pale' copy. He didn't want to diminish his image in front of his subordinates, but he also didn't want to know how Medb thinks he acts!

But, what if Ainz not meeting him would affect Medb's plan…?

Why couldn't she just tell him of her plans normally!?

---

"Okay, I think I've figured out how we need to proceed…" Ainz nodded slowly and thoughtfully, an expression that Medusa was very unfamiliar with, causing her to frown slightly.

Ainz often acts out his plan with a level of unmatched certainty. His plans perfectly encapsulated their objectives despite any obstacles or anything that can be construed as an obstacle, he didn't even seem to pay attention to how his planned actions caused the world around him to respond!

It was as if he had the whole world at the palm of his hands, and each variable perfectly accounted for factors. Ainz was a master planner that took even the unexpected in stride, for there is nothing he couldn't account for

To see that same Ainz suddenly thoughtful, unsure, as if trying to reassemble his entire plan in his head, was unexpected. Such a strange sight made Medusa unconsciously move closer to Ainz as she began checking their perimeter to see if anything around them had caused the reaction in Ainz. Perhaps an Assassin had stealthily approached them?

Fortunately, Medusa's eyes could easily see through anything, except for the greatest level of Presence Concealment after her acquisition of the Grail. Unless it was a level of stealth considered completely cheat-like even to the Servants, Medusa's eyes could not be waylaid.

Before Medusa could worry more about an unseen danger, Ainz came out of his thoughts and began relaying orders.

"Medusa, Scáthach – the both of you need to get to the State of the Crusaders – it's on the other side of Camelot, not far, so it shouldn't be too much trouble for you, I think."

Medusa reacted only by nodding slowly at Ainz's orders, as she glanced surreptitiously at Scáthach beside her, before frowning.

Medusa of course trusted Ainz completely, both by loyalty and because of his great deeds. Ainz had shown and proven his capability many times, that any, even the most unexpected move on his part, would eventually be revealed as part of some grand plan – but to use the Scáthach in that plan?

Medusa had never even considered such a thing before. If not for the Servant bond restricting her, Scáthach could be more comfortably considered as an enemy whose spear could turn against her master at any perceived opportunity.

Honestly, Medusa had thought that Ainz had taken Scáthach with him for the simple reason that he couldn't leave her unattended – or maybe he hoped that he could convince her of his good nature by personal action?

Finding out that she had a place in his plans was unexpected – but then again, this was Ainz. He always had a plan that included the most improbable moves.

---

Scáthach herself, however, was clearly not happy with Ainz's orders – even though she had become a Servant of Ainz, she did not trust him one bit and would prefer to keep an eye on him at all times. But at the same time, the destruction of the world and the need to reverse it bound Scáthach hand and foot, putting her in a bad position where she was forced to obey Ainz's orders.

At least until she could find another way to rescue the world.

And, coincidentally, it was by obeying Ainz's orders now and moving away from him toward the other Servants – the Crusaders – that she could find the best way to slip out of Ainz's grasp.

Perhaps not completely the best – Medusa would still accompany her and would curtail any treacherous action on her part. Still, Ainz's orders coincided too well with her plans and aspirations for her to refuse it.

So, humming through her nose, clearly aware that her thoughts were no secret to Medusa and Ainz, she nodded briefly. "Fine."

Come what may, she would overcome them all to return the Undead in front of him back behind the Gate of Skye.

"Good." Confirming Scáthach's agreement to his orders. Ainz nodded several times, then glanced at Medusa, as if to make sure she was in agreement with his plan.

Medusa, in turn, simply replied with a small quirk at the edge of her lips in return – she may not have understood Ainz's plan, but she trusted him, so she wasn't afraid at all. In agreement, she just nodded slightly at him.

"Okay, in that case, Mashu and Arthuria? Keep a watch on Camelot and report any anomaly you see. I'll also need the two of you to stay in the sect's demesne… Ah right, you'll have to negotiate with the Administrator yourself for a place to stay, at least…"

"And me," Ainz then began thinking about something, a strained look appearing on his face as Ainz turned around, frowning his eyebrows slightly, looking at something in the distance.

"I should go to… Someone."

With that ominous last parting remark, Ainz disappeared as space folded around him.

---

Arthuria looked coldly at the retreating figures of Medusa and Scáthach, which was much harder to do with Ainz, given his teleportation abilities,

Turning her gaze back to Camelot in the distance, a sense of nostalgia struck her. Though her distance to Camelot was considerable – Arthuria would stake everything on the fact that the city she's seeing right now is Camelot. Maybe the walls were of a different color, but everything else, the very location matched the Camelot in her memories – the main gate, the barracks, the firing range…

The royal chambers at the top.

Arthuria was used to sitting in them – even if her recollections were of a time long ago, so long ago that it now seemed no more than a half-forgotten dream, Arthuria had spent years in Camelot.

Who sat on her throne now?

Her Knights? Were the Knights of the Round Table running? And if so, who exactly were they now serving as their King?

Was it Percival? Gawain? Gareth? Or…

Or Arthur.

Arthuria knew that she was not a unique existence – even she herself was only an alter version of herself, there were a multitude of other versions of her. Even the version of herself that was not an 'altered' version was still numerous.

She already had faced one before even, back in London, the Storm King… it certainly made her reunion with Mordred an even messier affair, if such a thing was possible.

What a cruel and strange irony it is, to face herself, with her only single goal being the destruction of the enemy.

Arthuria was not a person keen on poetry, but even she could not help but appreciate the irony of the situation. She, the blackened version of the legendary King Arthur, embodying all the unsightly traits of her rule – the coldness, cruelty, perversion of chivalry, and the heartless wars of the past – was now a Servant, helping to save humanity.

And now, another alternate version herself, the ruler of Camelot, the Holy City, her city, stood in her way.

Once again, Arthuria was about to be responsible for the fall of Camelot.

The irony was so palpable – she could almost choke from it.

"Erm… Arthuria?" Mashu's voice caught Arthuria's attention, causing her to wrench her gaze from Camelot. "I think… We should go back to the Administrator first?"

Arthuria could only nod silently at that, not trusting herself to speak, before moving swiftly backward.

Fortunately, they didn't have to search long for the Administrator. After only a minute, Arthuria could hear, in addition to the rushing steps of Mashu behind her, the voice of the Administrator, who had already finished distributing instructions to the new refugees. Judging by his voice, he was now instructing one of the grunts trying to distribute the small supplies of the village among all the people. The chaos was barely organized as people rushed around trying to patch leaky homes and move bales of hay to the local warehouse.

"What, you're back already?" The Administrator, seemingly unconcerned by the actions of the two Servants, merely brushed them off.

"Yes.," Arthuria nodded, continuing brusquely. "I need information about…"

"I told you already, I have no time for chitchat." The Administrator interrupted Arthuria's words with such ease, as if he saw Servants like her every day, which was quite the likely possibility.

"If you want to chat, go to Spy or Orator or Diplomat – anyone but me, I'm much too busy to entertain questions."

Arthuria paused to think for a moment – she needed to get information from the Administrator about Camelot and the Assassin sect itself. While information about Camelot might be much easier to acquire, she simply needed to find this 'Spy', 'Orator' or 'Diplomat'. Of course, perhaps finding a specific Assassin in a village full of them might not exactly be called 'easy' – her other mission was much harder to accomplish.

Ideally, of course, Arthuria would have been happy to just ask the many Assassins about the information, but it was unlikely that she would be able to do so – especially from one of the leaders of this very Assassin sect. Especially for her, such a task was an impossibility.

Arthuria was aware that she was not the best of diplomats – but without information at all, Arthuria was in a bad situation, perhaps requiring her to go to Camelot herself… Not the most attractive of proposals.

"Maybe there's something we can help you with in return? To lighten your load so that you can have time to answer our questions?" Mashu asked the Administrator a question, clearly trying to find common ground with him, making the Administrator only frown as if from a toothache.

"Well, the first thing that comes to mind is for you to sell your armor at the market and buy food with it. Though that probably wouldn't sell for much, every bit helps." Administrator did not spare Mashu's feelings, as he bluntly told her that her armor looked cheap.

"As you can easily see around you, we're not exactly having an abundance of things to hunt nor plant. And seeing as I don't see you carrying any hammer nor nails, you can't exactly help us to build more houses, and there are no long caravans of supply in your entourage. So you do not have much choice if you want to 'help' me."

Arthuria frowned at the rude remarks before she shook her head. She wasn't the king of these people, there was no point in being offended by them. The Administrator was clearly concerned about other things, far more important than observing diplomatic protocol, so Arthuria was not offended by this behavior. Unlike Mashu, who was momentarily silenced by the Administrator's rude comments.

Cutting to the chase, Arthuria offered something that both Mashu and her have in excessive supply. The capability of great violence.

"What are these people running from?" Arthuria asked, eager to get the farce over with – seeing Camelot again had made her patience run dry.

"From the sacred knights of the sacred ruler of the sacred city, who has had her sacred spear shoved up her sacred ass and now has a sacred itch to destroy anyone who wasn't sacred enough. In a sacred way, of course." The Administrator answered in an irritated scowl, as if he's remembering something foul. Before, he hummed as he shifted his gaze at the two Servants.

"Hmm, actually, I think I know exactly what you can do for the settlement."

Arthuria silently measured the Administrator with a glance – she had been ordered to keep watch over Camelot, so she couldn't easily leave the territory of the Assassin sect. So, for the time being, she had to listen quietly to the Administrator's suggestion.

"We could obviously use guards for the village in case the knights got another itch." The Administrator turned away from Arthuria and Mashu.

"If the knights come, you will deal with them. Do your job well, and I will find some time to babble with you…"

Arthuria once again facing against knights… her knights.

Arthuria could only grin at yet another dark irony of her job before nodding at the Administrator's offer, accepting it. "Deal."

---

An excerpt from the New Age booklet of the Great Mother sect :

…and how can we hope for the love of the Great Mother if we do not find it in ourselves to give love to our neighbor?! How can we shed each other's blood, but hope that nature will be merciful to us! How can mercy be given to one who gives no mercy?!

We kill her children, but we don't see how she retaliate back at us for it – what mother would love a murderer of her children?! Our history is a succession of senseless murders – Heroes slays monsters, the knights slay dragons, a king triumphs over a defeated army. But what makes the victor better than the loser?!

The Great Mother sees us and her heart is full of pain – for we bring with us not her love, but only bloodthirsty hatred. We are not worthy of her love until we are more capable than just causing suffering!

Stop looking at Perseus and love Medusa! Stop exalting Theseus and worship Asterius! Overthrow in your soul the symbol of Rama's tyranny and glorify Ravanna!

And then the Great Mother, the Mother of All, will bestow upon you her love!

Long live the Great Mother! May the name of Angrboda be glorious!

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea and Staff: Smoking kills you faster than you think

Mordred was in the worst state of mind imaginable… No, not the worst actually, perhaps unfortunately, Mordred had something to compare his current feelings with, and Mordred's current state was not as bad as his past state when he had had to kill his father himself.

But it does come pretty close to that.

What was the reason for Mordred's current predicament? As it was easy to guess, it had to do with his father.

Mordred could even laugh at the strange situation he's in. Oddly enough, for some reason, every time Mordred finds himself utterly distraught – somehow, someway, his father would be the cause.

At first, Mordred was sad because he was running away from his father, while being so utterly unable to leave him alone, staying in his shadow, literally, getting more distraught at each failure to call out to his father. Then Ainz had caught him, and for a second, Mordred even thought he had found something to talk with his father about, something that he could use as a reason to be close with his father.

Before finding out that, yes, he had indeed found a topic of conversation with his father. One topic that is. That brief respite of joy didn't last long, until he was again brought to the depths of sadness.

No, of course, considering that up to this point Mordred had not communicated with his father at all, the resulting opportunity to at least dine near him was a distinct improvement. Especially considering that the food Archer was cooking was really excellent.

However, although Mordred was able to strike up a suitable conversation with his father – about taste preferences and the like – this was where Mordred's successes ended.

When Mordred was still able to overcome his fear and, during the discussion of another meal, neatly ask his father a question about their past?

Nothing.

There was no response from Arthuria – not a twitch of her eyebrow or even a change of facial expression, least of all a single word. The question was simply ignored by Arthuria as easily as she ignored any other question from Mordred.

After this question, Mordred, realizing that he had exhausted all his reserves of courage for the coming months. There she was back on her original position, as his own face turned pale with fear, yet burning scarlet with shame and anger. She had once again fled away – and now there would be no more chances he could talk with his father in the near future.

His father had left Chaldea, going with Ainz to resolve the Singularity.

And now, Mordred, because of his weakness, has lost another chance – perhaps even his last chance – to make contact with his father.

"Grarch!" Mordred made a sound, something between the roar of a wounded bear and an attempt to clear his throat with a cough, before he lunged at Jalter.

Bringing his blade above his head for a hard blow, Mordred had opened up her defenses for a moment – and Jalter took the chance, striking the back of her spear-sword into Mordred's rib cage. Mordred halted for a moment in her charge, stuck in the air at the end of Jalter's spear. Then Jalter retracted her spear, making it flutter in the wind, before she struck the left side of Mordred's face with her armored glove, making the insides of his head jingle and his vision to blur for a second.

Mordred came to, a moment later, lying on the ground, and Jalter, standing beside him, was holding out her hand to him.

Mordred, trying to hide his embarrassment for losing so quickly, only hummed disinterestedly, then pushed himself up on his own, ignoring the outstretched hand.

In response, Jalter only clucked her tongue sharply before turning away as if she hadn't offered Mordred her help, before turning around, showing with all her appearance how much she didn't care about Mordred's condition.

"Well, well, that's enough," Hector's voice made Mordred frown to the point where her face seemed to have completely turned to raisins. "Jeanne, dear, would you mind healing the wounds…"

"I am not wounded!" Mordred shouted out, as he shrank back sharply, before he grimaced a little when his attempt to step forward was followed by a pain in his leg. "And even if I am, I will recover on my own!"

"All right, all right," Hector merely threw his arms upwards in a friendly and conciliatory manner which made Mordred want to punch him in the face. "If you don't want to, of course, I'm sure no one will mind."

"And now I do!" Mordred gritted his teeth so loudly that one could hear the sound of glass cracking somewhere in the room. Then Mordred's gaze flashed across Hector's face, who was looking at him kindly, with no hint of mockery in it. It was as if Hector had simply done what he expected the same response from Mordred would be, which caused Mordred to intercept his other hand that had already risen to strike the Lancer in the face.

After another moment, Mordred felt the pain begin to recede, partly because Ainz' mana had triggered her natural Servant regeneration, and partly because Jeanne had decided to ignore the knight's complaint.

Jalter, who was standing beside Mordred, rolled her eyes as Jeanne reached out her hands to her, but limited her reaction to that alone, allowing Jeanne's healing to quickly heal the bruises, abrasions, and scratches on her body.

Unfortunately for Mordred – these bruises and minor discomfort were the limit of what Mordred had managed to inflict in the battle with Jalter. Mordred himself on the other hand felt that he had at least a few cracked ribs, and most likely a broken leg and several fingers on his hands.

This fact didn't get past Hector, who had taken on the role of 'referee' of the duel. He cast another glance at Mordred, to which he only smirked and looked away, showing that he clearly didn't understand why Hector was now examining him so intently.

Mordred's attempt to defend himself from Hector's gaze didn't work in the end, though, causing Hector to sigh. "Mordred, I don't want to pry into your private life…"

"So stay out of it!" Mordred reacted instantly, barely keeping from sinking his jaws into Hector.

"Ahem, yes, point taken." Hector, apparently somewhat unprepared for such a vivid and abrupt reaction, stumbled at his words before shaking his head and continuing, "But still, you're usually a much better fighter than this, and today you were…"

Mordred threw a look at Hector that warned him that he was, right now, half a second away from being sent to be reborn by the Chaldea system, but Hector, realizing this, continued anyway, albeit with a little correction. "You were… Very distracted today. Did something happen?"

Mordred only clenched his jaws at Hector's words before answering in a slow hissing tone. "I don't see how that concerns you…"

"Well, actually, it concerns me a lot because I'm sort of the referee of this battle…" Hector then glanced at Jeanne, who quickly looked away. "Albeit not exactly by choice… Ahem, anyway, I make sure that the participants fight fairly, and, I suppose, seriously… That means that I'm responsible for making sure that the contestants are not distracted during the battle and no one wins due to chance or distraction of the opponent or some other cheap trick." Hector looked away after that, remembering times in the past where he employed such tactics,

"Ahem, to be honest, in combat I would support the use of such tricks… But if I am a referee to a duel, then my function should be to prevent this from happening… That's it! Yes, that's exactly the reason!" Hector clapped his hands together as Mordred got to his feet, finally feeling back in top fighting shape.

"I suggest you mind your own business, unless you want me to 'mind' you." Mordred's threat was clear, and he was ready to execute it at any moment.

But Hector, as if he couldn't hear Mordred, or maybe not paying any attention to his words, just shook his head. "Oh no, I'm good…"

A moment later, Mordred grasped his blade, but a palm stopped Mordred's blade, locking it in its scabbard – Mordred glanced at the owner of that palm, seeing Jeanne at the end a moment later.

"Really, it's no trouble Hector, I'm fine with Mordred losing every battle we have now." Jalter's mocking voice made Mordred grit his teeth again, glancing at her before Hector's voice cut through the atmosphere of confrontation between the two.

"Well, well, no need to fight here, let's take it easy… and Mordred." Hector smiled good-naturedly before continuing on. "This is about Arthuria, isn't it?"

Almost instantly, Mordred's hands clenched his blade tighter, trying to pull the blade from its sheath with all his might, but Jeanne still had her palm on Mordred's blade, preventing him from pulling the blade out.

Mordred tried tugging his blades several times as a test, then, when it did not yield to the knight's movements, he glared at Jeanne. He was silently trying to find out whether Jeanne was willing to risk her head in an attempt to keep Mordred from killing Hector.

Judging by the look Jeanne threw back, she was more than ready.

"I don't care what your problems are," Jalter said again, averting her gaze as if she didn't want to look Mordred in the eye for some reason, before she snorted. "Not one bit!"

"We only want to help you," Jeanne smiled kindly at Mordred while drawing her face closer, causing Mordred to look away in embarrassment. "Even Jalter, she's just too shy to admit it…"

"No, I'm not!" Jalter reacted to her twin's words instantly, but not with what she had planned, so she corrected herself a moment later. "I mean, I don't want to help anyone! I just want a proper fight!"

"Yeah, sure Jalter." Hector nodded, keeping the expression on his face as if he were a kindly grandfather, right now helping the young lads sort out their lives.

However, remembering that he was one of the heroes of the legendary Siege of Troy, which took place long before Mordred or Jeanne lived, perhaps that was appropriate. "So if you want to fight again, then you'll have to tell us what it is that bothers you so much…"

Like a hunted beast, Mordred started trying to find a way out, first glancing at Hector, then sideways, at Jalter, then at Jeanne behind her, still keeping her hand on Mordred's blade. Seeing no way out and concluding that even if he managed to escape, he would still have to face the same questions again, Mordred gave up.

Abruptly exhaling and dropping his shoulders, he withdrew his hands from the blade, then collapsed to the ground like a sack full of old bones and regrets. She then pushed his knees to his chest and wrapped his hands to his knees, as if trying to appear as small as possible – like a small child trying to hide.

Perhaps Mordred was still that child…

Mordred only frowned harder at the thought, pushing his knees even closer. But the Mordred oyster is still a dangerous thing as he glared at Jeanne and Jalter, who, catching something in his gaze, took a few steps away from Mordred, allowing the two to remain in comparatively private surroundings.

Hector, on the other hand, looking at Mordred, only crouched on the floor, making no attempt to approach Mordred, after which he glanced at him, looking through the small gap between the knees that covered the knight's eyes. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"I do so fucking mind!" Mordred snapped back sharply, even though he didn't really mind smoking, he just didn't want to agree with anything Hector would say right now.

"Fine," Hector only shrugged, before stretching his legs forward and leaning back with his arms outstretched, making it look as if Hector was performing some sort of yoga pose, then stretched a little and breathed in full chest, emphasizing exactly how relaxed he was.

Mordred frowned slightly at these actions, before pushing his knees a little off his chest, still looking warily at Hector.

For a few minutes, there was silence in the training room where Mordred had dragged Jalter and the other two Servants into – interrupted only when Jalter and Jeanne left its confines, allowing Hector and Mordred to be alone.

Within minutes, Mordred finally relaxed his knees and his scowl smoothed out a bit, before Hector finally did break the silence.

"You see, I'm just an old man, and I don't have Ainz's wonderful powers to simply say two words and pull a miracle out of his ass." He said abruptly, making Mordred flinch at the crassness and glare at him.

Mordred reflexively grasped his blade after those words, to which Hector only glared. "Oh, c'mon give me a break will you, I don't like fighting, so I'd rather do without it."

"Then you'd better keep your mouth shut." Mordred muttered back with an anger he didn't really feel – the anger to mask the shame and insecurity earlier beginning to fade, letting those distracting feelings back again.

"And anyway, if you don't understand anything, then what's the point of you getting involved?"

"Yes, well…" Hector raised his hand, and then ran his fingers over his unshaven stubble before turning his gaze from the ceiling to Mordred. "None at all, really."

Mordred only frowned more at Hector's words. "What? And?"

"And what?" Hector blinked, confused.

Mordred began to feel foolish, but brushed these thoughts aside. "What comes next?"

"I don't know." Hector only shrugged his shoulders before leaning back completely and lying down on the floor.

"I'm not Ainz with his miraculous ability to solve all problems in two words, I'm just an old man who's always picking on the young… Hmm, maybe that's what all those movies and stories are saying – that old people get bored and start looking for any opportunity to talk."

Mordred's mind, already exhausted by Hector's actions and words, finally received one last 'mercy blow' from the ancient hero's nonsensical words, after which something inside Mordred seemed to break.

Not his psyche mind you, but some inner dam, which until that moment had kept the feelings and experiences of the most faithful of traitors under control, and that made Mordred pull his knees to his face again and… Felt the nasty salty, burning liquid leave the confines of his eyes, where it should have remained, as it ran down the knight's cheeks.

Feeling it, Mordred gritted his teeth, then raised his hands, trying to shake off the sense of weakness and vulnerability that came with the tears, while his face involuntarily began to curve in an evil grin.

Hector, watching the knight try to wipe his tears from his face with harsh, awkward movements, made the wisest decision of all – and silently looked away. Staring at the white ceiling of the training room, letting Mordred slowly return to normal, ceasing to rub his cheeks desperately, as if hoping they would fall away from his face along with their tear-producing function.

There was silence for a few minutes, punctuated by Mordred's intermittent loud breathing and desperate attempts to draw in air without letting something so inconsistent with the knight's image as a 'sob' escape, before Mordred spoke up. "Well, suppose I have a father problem."

Mordred's voice still sounded with a slight twitch behind the tone of voice, but Hector chose to ignore it, concentrating on far more important information. "I think your situation has gone much further than simple 'problems'..."

"And how would you know that?" Mordred spoke back sharply, but his voice was not his usual threatening tone, as if he were doing so out of habit rather than any actual hatred of Hector.

"I don't." Hector replied, before looking slowly up at Mordred, who had finally found the strength to let his knees, and was now just sitting a little hunched over, with his elbows on the knees of his feet on the floor. Mordred was trying desperately not to look up, eyes still a little pinker and more shiny than the knight would have preferred. "So, again, you can't expect miracles from me."

"Why, then, do I need you here?" Mordred grinned crookedly, all the while still not looking Hector in the eye.

"Alas, what I can't give, I won't give." Hector finally managed to identify the right moment and rose from his reclining position, making himself comfortable on the floor that was slowly being repaired from Mordred and Jalter's training sparring, tucking one leg under himself.

"So again, can I smoke?"

"You can – if you don't value your life, that is." Mordred grinned crookedly, then, realizing that Servants were spared the side effects of smoking, looked up for a moment, then gained a bright idea – perhaps out of a youthful rebellious streak. "You know what? Sure, you can have some, but give me one too."

"Are you sure?" Hector asked, but meeting Mordred's bestial stare, he only raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Okay, fine, just taking care of the young ones."

Mordred grimaced slightly at Hector's words, but instantly snatched a cigarette from the Lancer's hands before realizing that he didn't have a light on him, he glanced at Hector again.

The latter, after lighting his cigarette, held out the lighter to Mordred's cigarette, so that soon, a small smoldering light was lit on the end of it and Mordred drew the cigarette to himself, inhaling the poisoned smoke sharply.

Hector, watching this, smiled a little. "Not your first time, I see?"

"Consider it the first time," Mordred replied before he drew in another breath of poison.

At that, Hector grinned slightly and, with a flick of his hand, produced a small glass ashtray from between his crease. "Better use this, or the chief will tear you a new one."

At that, Mordred wanted to chuckle, wondering if the Chaldean chief could really have fought a Servant of Saber's class for such a thing… Then she frowned, realizing that even in that extreme case, she could just ask Ainz to do it instead, and shook her head. Someone who used borrowed power to do his bidding, it made Mordred conjure up associations with his mother.

And Mordred didn't like Morgan at all.

"You know, it's usually at this point that a man begins to talk, though too bad there's no alcohol around…" Hector's voice made Mordred turn toward him, staring at the slightly smiling man, looking like an ordinary office clerk, wearing nothing more than the armor and cape, unbefitting of his image as an office worker. Though, Mordred supposes, he is indeed no one, what a strange dichotomy.

"I mean, that's what I was made to believe is the 'norm' in this situation, so to speak."

"My whole life is an exception to the norm," Mordred twitched his cheek again involuntarily, then looked away. "My problems with my father are my problems – not yours."

At those last words Mordred, who'd caught his cigarette between his index and middle fingers, poked at himself, trying to confirm his words with a gesture, to which Hector only shrugged. "Well, I suppose they really are."

Mordred took a few more puffs before his cigarette reached the filter, and then sharply jammed the butt into the glass ashtray, as if to put a period to some unseen statement. And unbidden, despite his earlier complaints, Mordred began to talk. "I don't understand the point of smoking."

"It's not about understanding," Hector took another slow puff of his cigarette as he too began speaking, perhaps to hide his smirk. "It's not about just smoking a cigarette and saying 'I did it'. It's that at some point, without even knowing or understanding why, without ever having done it before, you just decide you need to do it and…"

Hector slowly took a deep drag, and then let out a small ring of smoke from his mouth. "And that was it. You're done – you do it all the time now, even when you don't want to, you just do it because it's what you're used to, it feels right…"

"Load of bullshit is what that is." Mordred's face twisted, clearly thinking of spitting on the floor, but under Hector's mocking gaze he chose to snicker as if he'd thought nothing of the sort and carry on talking. "Why take meaningless actions if they have no effect in the end? Just doing what once seemed 'right' to you? What a waste of time."

"Why indeed?" Hector only took a drag on his cigarette, almost defiantly, as an answer, making Mordred frown. "But then again, I decided to do it once and haven't been able to stop since…"

"Sucker," Mordred trailed off the words like a sentence. "You just don't have the willpower to give it up, do you?"

"But how can I just give it up?" Hector smoked the last dregs of the cigarette, before putting out the butt on the glass ashtray before looking up. "I've been doing it for… well, not all my life, but for a very, very long time, pretty much spent with a cigarette…"

"Because you're too weak," Mordred rolled his eyes, then leaned back. "Doing meaningless things all the time just because you thought they were 'right' for once doesn't make sense."

"But if I'm not going to do it," Hector smiled, "Then what am I supposed to do? I've smoked for so many years and to suddenly stop? I don't even know what I'm going to do with all the free time, the opportunities…"

"Why should I know?!" Mordred answered back sharply. "I don't know, find yourself a hobby, start running, painting – figure it out for yourself, you're not a fucking child anymore…"

After these words, Mordred hummed, rolling his eyes, then lowered his gaze to Hector, who was looking intently back at Saber himself.

"What?!" Mordred barked back, unable to withstand the scrutiny.

Hector, however, merely lowered his gaze and shook his head.

"Oh, well," He looked up after a moment and exhaled. "I suppose such things take time… I think you'll realize that later."

"What are you babbling about now?" Not even pretending to understand what Hector was talking about, Mordred chose the only kind of behavior he was aware of, aggression.

"Well, I suppose that's my limit." Hector just shook his head at Mordred's aggression, and then looked up. "Maybe Ainz could drive this idea through?"

"What idea?!" Mordred felt irritation rising from the depths of his soul, "Do you want me to untie your tongue, so you can start talking normally?!"

"Okay, okay, I get it, I'm a bad psychologist and allegorist!" Hector raised his hands in surrender at Mordred's threats. "Please don't hit me!"

"Now that you're asking me not to, it really makes me want to punch you in the face!"

Aggression was not only Mordred's most habitual style of behavior, but it was one of the few ways he had found to relieve stress. And after the botched meeting with his father, dealing with Hector, and, frankly, since his very appearance in the Fourth Singularity, Mordred had accumulated a lot of stress.

So jumping to his feet, Mordred donned his armor once more with his blade appearing in his arm. Now, feeling much better in his familiar battle attire and with a weapon in hand, Mordred felt his thirst for battle slowly returning to him.

"Defend yourself!"

"Jeez, no need to get ahead of yourself, I'm not going anywhere." hearing Mordred's challenge, Hector rose slowly to his feet, then hung his head and exhaled. "Just let's agree on a couple of simple rules before we begin, so that…"

Hector didn't have time to finish his thought, as a gauntlet planted itself into his face a moment later, forcing Hector to take a step back. Mordred has run out of patience, it seems – not that he has a lot of it in the first place. "Shut up and fight!"

"All right, all right…" Hector could only sigh as he is once again forced to accept a challenge from an opponent too eager to fight.

"How is it that Ainz manages to handle so many women at once…"

"What did you say?" Mordred, hearing the taboo word, paused for a moment and blinked, then slowly, like a mad robot in a horror movie looking for its target, he turned his gaze to Hector.

"Oh," Hector blinked, then a moment later his spear appeared in his hand. "Well, I guess I asked for it…"

Hector, as usual, was absolutely right.

---

Ability: Secret of Pedigree

Ability level: 40

An interesting, though fairly simple, ability from the realm of counterspells that interfere with information gathering. Blocks the detection of the wearer's unique skills associated with unique classes and the detection of the abilities of artifacts worn by the wearer, as well as hiding the player's nickname. But, only until the hidden abilities are not applied or the player's nickname is not mentioned – then it stops working.

In other words – quite a useful ability for ambushes, although it works only for a short time and only for the first encounter with a new enemy, who has not received information about the player.

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 122: Plan

Ainz didn't even know what was the worst part of his current situation. The fact that he had to face his copy from this world, that it was a necessary part of Medb's plan, or that it was supposed to be a part of his plan! Or the fact that he didn't even know who exactly he was looking for and where he was supposed to go!

Why couldn't Medb have been more specific in telling him of his plan? No, Ainz supposes that it would have been illogical for Medb to tell him his own plan… Maybe he should call Medb and have her tell all the other Servants about his 'wonderful plan'? Saying something like 'in order to keep all the Servants on the same page' should work…

But what if her plan, which was part of his plan, which doesn't exist, relied on the other Servants not knowing about the plan? She had said something about Scáthach's part and something she didn't see coming? Argh, why was this so complicated!

Even now, he essentially didn't know where he had to go! Should he hang around the Assassins' base?! Should he go to Camelot?! Or was he supposed to go back to his summoning ground in Egypt?!

Ainz was essentially just teleporting at random now, just looking around to see if he could see anything unusual around him. And if he didn't? Well, he was practically rolling a die and picking at random the random side he teleported to next! He was literally like a teleporting rabbit, jumping from place to place. At this point he's just doing something for the sake of just doing it, he has no idea where to go, hoping for a miracle.

After all, he didn't even know exactly what he was looking for, just scurrying around the desert like a hapless spirit.

"I even sent some undead around – but they found absolutely nothing… Maybe I should dump my body and use something like Blessing of Titania?" Ainz shook his head, while the prospect of using higher tiered magic is culpable, showing his hand this early is inadvisable.

"But, even if I do it, will it show me the way to my copy or not? Last time when I used that in the very first Singularity, it led me to Olga, but where will it lead me now?"

The desert had long ago changed from the usual rocky terrain where he had been a little earlier back to the black scorched desert, then to the comparatively ordinary steppe, where Ainz could even see the setting sun.

"I've been wandering this desert for hours… " Ainz let out a defeated sigh before suddenly righting himself up in alert.

"Wait, wait a second! One of the connections to the summoned undead has been severed?"

Ainz had summoned several types of undead with scouting abilities, so he wasn't immediately able to know exactly which was destroyed – and in one hit at that. The undead had been killed without having time to relay information about exactly who it was and how it was destroyed.

Of course, he hadn't summoned his strongest creatures, and the creatures he had summoned specialized primarily in searching rather than fighting, so losing one from an enemy wasn't unusual. But for it to happen so unexpectedly, without any whips of information about the assailant?

"Well, at least I found someone relatively high level – a Servant, I suppose, that should be a good enough find, right?" Ainz shrugged.

"Not sure if that's what I was supposed to find, but it's better than nothing. It doesn't seem that, judging by the slain undead, to be someone friendly to me – but I can at least try to capture the Servant and ask them about someone who looks like me… Good thing I can trace where the last summon died."

Moments later, another of Ainz summons died, and that wouldn't have been unusual, except for the fact that the slain undead were at an extremely decent distance away from the first killed undead.

"Teleportation!?" Ainz thought about the possibilities for a moment. "I've managed to determine that such an ability was a rare trick – but it is possible that some Servants can easily possess something like that. Or is it instead some kind of super long-range attack? Or are they just that fast? At the very least, the Servant must have excellent scouting ability to be able to notice the undead that were so spread apart."

A moment later, a third, one that is even farther away from Ainz, died, and he comes to a conclusion. "It doesn't look like we'll part in peace… Hmm, very well."

Ainz's reflexes worked faster than his mind and his teleportation instantly carried Ainz away, traversing a vast distance in the blink of an eye, one that deposited him high in the air.

"Flight." Another of his delayed spells worked a moment later, stabilizing Ainz's position, one that allowed him sight over most of his summons.

Simultaneously, two more creatures ceased to exist, but Ainz cared little, the action giving Ainz more information about his enemy. "So, it was a super long-range attack… Very fast as well, I can't seem to see where the projectiles are coming from."

A huge explosion, its radius at least a couple of kilometers, instantly scorched the steppe and destroyed everything in its path.

Ainz would not have died from such a blow – but it was indeed quite powerful, Ainz would say that it was equal in destructive potential of a spell of at least ninth tier. And considering that even Medea was not much versed in this level of magic, having only a few spells in that tier – it showed that the Servant who used this ability was quite powerful.

Perhaps not even by the standards of the Servants, but by the standards of Ainz himself. If every previous undead was destroyed by such an attack – it meant that the enemy could easily throw such magic around.

Moments later, Ainz was informed that the blast had hit one of Ainz's more powerful summoned creatures without killing him instantly, making Ainz's measurement of the potential enemy's strength to decrease slightly, but it still remained quite high. "Hmm, so not every attack is essentially a 'Nuclear Blast' in power. Even so, with its great range, this attack alone makes this enemy potentially dangerous."

Ainz shifted his gaze around, trying to see if a second similar attack from his opponent was approaching him. But either he needed time to reload his attacks, or he decided not to attack Ainz anymore. And while Ainz hoped for the latter – he was aware that it was probably the former.

"Hmm, if the enemy has such tremendous range – then he could potentially be anywhere, depending on whether he needs to see the location of the attack. If not, or if he's using some sort of attack area spell – I'm in a bad position. But I'm sure I saw a projectile or beam streaking across the sky if not where it had come from, so at least I have time to react. So the enemy most likely needs to see the attack site – in that case, and at this range, the enemy must be on some high mountain but there's nothing but sand dunes for kilometers… Or perhaps."

Ainz looked up, looking at what seemed to be a small dot high in the sky, and exhaled. "Or in the sky."

Moments later, Ainz used teleportation, and felt resistance.

"Hmm, protection against teleportation? Unusual, but also expected… " Ainz frowned, preparing to use some extra magic to break through the defense – before suddenly feeling the restriction suddenly parting before him.

"Huh, the protection worked first and then retreated? Considering that I didn't use any magic or any consumables or equipment of any sort, there's only one other possibility."

Ainz instantly felt the surrounding environment change – the sky and the steppe beneath his feet turned to a stone floor, with huge stone pillars to the side leading to an obscenely decorated throne. A throne, maybe only a stone's throw, less imposing than the Throne of Kings in Nazarick.

But that was just a silly comparison, considering that the Throne of Kings was designed in the game specifically to be huge and unrealistically imposing, whereas this was a real throne.

A pompous, enormous, as if set on a podium with a high staircase leading up to it, throne. It converges into strange figures, as if the throne were a strange upside-down candelabra, only placed on the floor and aiming at the ceiling.

On which sat a girl.

Dressed in a chic, descending into the ground like a waterfall, pompous black gown, over which a black robe that descended pass the stone steps. And above the waist, she was clad in risqué armor, made more to emphasize her prominent forms than for any protection.

A longer inspection, during which the girl, seemingly in shock, did nothing, allowed Ainz to correct his earlier observation. It was not a black robe, but an unrealistically long hair that shaded her sharp facial features, framed by a collar made of some kind of black feathers, and… pointed long ears?

"An elf?" Ainz noted, surprised. "The first elf-Servant I have ever met. Huh, how rare…"

A moment later, though, the girl was seemingly able to deal with her shock. And in an instant, Ainz saw several chains striking out of nowhere as if they had appeared out of the air of the throne room heading for him. Ainz, of course, was protected from piercing damage, but he wasn't going to just take the blow and was about to teleport away, but a moment later he could feel something trying to make its way into his mind…

"Oh, are they trying to poison me?" Ainz almost smiled at the foolish attempt. Piercing damage and poison against the undead was the easiest mistake one could make.

The girl, apparently realizing that her abilities didn't work on Ainz, instantly changed her approach. Without leaving her throne, she raised her hand, and then a portal opened beside her…

"Dimensional Lock," Which Ainz immediately closed back, not about to find out what exactly the girl was trying to summon or teleport.

After another moment, spells crashed into Ainz – but they were much weaker than the attack the enemy had used on him just before, or even on his summoned creatures. Yes, there were a multitude of them of all kinds of attributes, but each of them was no higher than tier five or six. So, crashing into Ainz, each of them dissipated powerlessly, leaving Ainz completely uninjured in front of the girl.

She raised her hand momentarily and paused, as if contemplating whether she should continue the battle, before slowly lowering it as if to acknowledge defeat.

"I had imagined this day coming for so long, but I did not expect it to happen today." The girl's voice was deep enough to sound lovely, but it held an arrogance that even the almost instant defeat at the hands of Ainz couldn't seem to break. It was as if the owner of the voice didn't even pay attention to such a small thing as her own defeat. Or perhaps it was because she wasn't expecting a victory in the first place, and that was why she was giving up.

"And yet, I could never imagine that it would end like this… Ha-ha, okay, old man – you can have my head. I'll let you have it as the winner."

"Why are you talking as if I was hunting you? In the first place, you attacked me first, and what part of me looked old? I'd rather you not call me old man, and I wouldn't want to kill the first elf I meet on my way anyway." Ainz nodded, it would be such a waste if he could add her to his collection.

As a Servant that is, not as a lover! He already has too many of the latter!

"But trust me, if you try to attack me again, I will. Speaking of which, could you please remove your ability – the poison can't hurt me, but it seems to be dissolving my human body." Taking a look, it seems that his skin was going red and in some part was already necrotizing, as if he had just taken a bath in a vat of acid.

"Elf?" After a moment the girl raised one eyebrow, but at the same time her ability stopped working on Ainz, who had taken out a healing potion to heal his human body, before frowning. She then seems to be taking another look at Ainz body, which she had previously mistaken for someone else because of the aura of Death he was exuding. "Wait… You're not the Old Man from the Mountain?!"

"No, but I'd like to meet him," Ainz inwardly added 'if that's who I think it is, but considering I was just mixed up with him, it's highly likely.'

"Hah, so there's another one of your kind walking around." The girl, seeing that she was not about to be attacked, leaned back on her throne, before grinning so sweetly Ainz almost had a toothache.

"Indeed, the arrogance of the strong! You don't even know who I am, even when you're invading my home. However, know that before you is the queen of these lands!"

The girl rose in a single motion from her throne, letting her hair flow like a stream down the steps, striking a grand pose of confident, arrogant, and powerful ruler… Which didn't particularly work on Ainz, considering that he had quite simply defeated her just a few seconds ago. But if it weren't for that fact, her posture and aura of confidence and arrogance would probably have made Ainz wince.

"I, the Queen of Assyria, the lord of these lands, Semiramis!"

Ainz only just nodded at the introduction, acting as if it was just as he expected. Inside, however, it was another matter entirely.

'Great, another name I've never heard… Or have I? Something about gardens?'

Ainz glanced around him, but nothing around looked like gardens, so it probably wasn't the Semiramis that Ainz remembered.

"Okay," Ainz replied simply, before dismissing that thought as not of interest to him and clinging to the most important one at the moment. Spending some minutes inside the Throne room, Ainz could feel an unmistakable aura surrounding him.

"On to another matter entirely, however… Why does your flying fortress feel like a World-Class Item to me?"

---

Nitocris found herself moving through the desert once again as she swayed gently on the back of the sphinx, following after the figure of Sita who was moving ahead. She was also perched on the back of a sphinx provided by Ozymandias, unlike the other girl whose name she never managed to learn.

Instead of riding a sphinx, she was lounging on top of a palanquin, which were carried by four indistinct male figures. And yet, despite the speed the sphinx were running, the palanquin had kept up, and somehow despite being carried by men, they did not rock the throne as they ran.

Seeing such a sight, Nitcoris began pondering.

First and foremost, she pondered the fact that Ozymandias had sent her away.

'Ahhhh, I'm embarrassed, totally embarrassed!' if Nitocris could, she would have cried by now. But trying to preserve the crumbs of her dignity as an inexperienced, but still a pharaoh, she tried to pretend that she was watching her way carefully, looking ahead into the desert.

'First decent order from Ozymandias – and I am completely disgraced… I can't even call myself a pharaoh now!'

And yet it was originally so simple - Nitocris just had to demonstrate her usefulness… But why is it so hard?

Ozymandias was a role model for Nitocris – a figure that, even by her times, was already an old legend. He was a figure that people of a more modern world would compare to the hero of the children's cartoons they grew up with. Nitocris could grow up, mature, understand the world – and yet such a figure was someone Nitocris could never encounter in reality – a legend among legends.

Nitocris grew up hearing the legends of the great pharaohs of antiquity. Her most important and most beloved legend was, of course, Ozymandias. And yet when compared to such a grand figure, her time as Pharaoh, was woefully inadequate.

A simple, sad story, fitting into about one epitaph on a tombstone – if they would erect a tombstone for her, of course. A sad epitaph ending with the unimpressive 'and then she went to the Throne of Heroes… somehow.' with no sequel.

The only other chance for her to make her mark in the world, as small as it might be, was a Holy Grail War. So, in effect, she has no chance at all.

The likelihood of a Servant to be summoned in the Holy Grail War was very minimal. To add to the rarity of the event itself, the War, barring some exceptional events, would only summon Seven Servants per war. A war fought maybe every few hundred years – and the number of Heroic Spirits capable of spawning Servants was in the tens of thousands, and that was only what Nitocris herself knew of.

In other words, the odds for Nitocris to be summoned were about the same as her chance of not dying of embarrassment to Ozymandias right now.

Not exactly zero, but not much greater than that.

But the miracle had happened – not just anywhere at that, but in Egypt, the place of her power, the place of her legend and she had even been summoned along with the Pharaoh of Pharaohs, Ozymandias!

Nitocris could not even believe her luck at first, the probability of such a thing happening was unspeakably small. And, as small as it was, it was a dream come true for Nitocris.

Nitocris, who had grown up on the legends of Ozymandias, had been summoned as Ozymandias' assistant, and so as expected, she had jumped at the chance to help Ozymandias with all her might. Even when he said that he did not, in fact, need an assistant – much less someone as inexperienced but willing as Nitocris.

But Nitocris didn't care – she was willing to shine shoes, haul records, anything for the chance to stand beside Ozymandias. The chance to watch how a real Pharaoh behaves, and help the hero of her childhood fantasies in his sacred task of ruling his people… It was breathtaking.

And Nitocris was entrusted with roughly this function, but she was not one to complain. No, she was not waving a fan, or cleaning Ozymandias' shoes - according to him, that was an occupation unworthy of any pharaoh, whether he was a wizened old man or someone as young and inexperienced as Nitocris.

But her level of tasks was not very different from those, if not in appearance, then in content and complexity.

After an… unfortunate incident with Ozymandias, Nitocris effectively became the herald of his will, she announced the decrees of Ozymandias to the people, visited his cities, and escorted guests.

But that was where her usefulness ended.

Nitocris did not overestimate herself or her abilities, she was not experienced in statesmanship or strong as a Servant, but she was ready to prove herself, to show her best and help Ozymandias in any way she could. The problem?

Ozymandias just didn't need the help.

Ozymandias, without leaving the confines of his palace, could rule even in such apocalyptic conditions with a firm hand. Rewarding those who proved themselves, punishing miscreants, managing the people, ruling the masses, and conducting politics and diplomacy all without stepping down from his throne.

Nitocris simply had nothing to offer Ozymandias!

Nitocris was not even sure that she was needed to announce his edicts or similar matters! Apparently, Ozymandias could have perfectly well entrusted it to his other servants and subordinates, but chose not to do so – and, of course, there was a reason, many even…

But Nitocris was well aware that the most important and main reason was that Nitocris had asked to help Ozymandias – and he had agreed to fulfill the wish of an inexperienced fan.

And though such an attitude from Nitocris' childhood hero pleased her, she wanted more! Not in the sense of an even more special treatment by the Pharaoh, but more opportunities to prove herself and help Ozymandias!

And, at last, that opportunity had arrived! In the great kingdom of the Pharaoh the Pharaohs, there appeared a powerful adversary, someone whose appearance was not a visit from the factions of this world. Someone who did not obey Ozymandias' orders and laws, and who, in his appearance, had turned the cities of Ozymandias upside down.

Ozymandias, of course, could not abide by such actions – but at the same time he could not leave the confines of his palace. Because of which, for the first time in all this time, Nitocris was given a mission – an important assignment which she had to fulfill, for the first time there was an opportunity for Nitocris to prove herself…

And she had disgraced herself! Twice even!

First, instead of proving herself as Pharaoh, guardian of these lands and loyal subordinate to Ozymandias, she simply… Lost! In an instant she lost everything and at once, surrendered to an unknown force, not even holding out for a second of resistance!

It was a shame to lose, but to lose in the first real battle in less than a second? It wasn't just embarrassing, it was a disaster!

And, as if that weren't enough, Nitocris had then led a potential adversary straight to Ozymandias!

And then she also lost on the battlefield of the mind, losing not twice, but three times!

She was disgraced three times!

Of course Ozymandias, seeing her disgrace, had decided to get rid of her at the first opportunity, sending such a useless under-pharaoh away. Nitocris had asked to be assigned any task to her for so long, and when she was given it, she failed miserably in just every way she could, and even in those where she could not!

Nitocris only hoped that Sita and the other woman who had taken her along would just kill her for her stupidity and spare her the shame, and not remind her of how she had failed repeatedly before.

"For our guide, you seem to lose sight of your surroundings surprisingly often and for long periods of time," The voice of the woman – or perhaps the girl? In the palanquin interrupted Nitocris' musings.

"Yeah," Nitocris couldn't even find the strength to respond to the girl's words, "We go straight… because it's the desert, you can go straight to any object here, and you would reach it eventually… If you're a Servant, that is."

"Yes, I've gotten the gist of that – but, I've been warned that there will be at least a few sandstorms and a couple of wild sphinxes on the way?" She glanced up at Nitocris, glaring at her from the top of her throne.

"Wouldn't you have to warn us if they were coming, and how to get around them?

"Wouldn't that make no sense?" Nitocris answered almost lifelessly. "Sandstorms and sphinxes won't be a problem for Servants… especially the strong ones."

"Yes, I agree with you on that point." The girl agreed easily, "But isn't the point of a guide, not just to get to the destination, but to get there in the most convenient and yet shortest way possible? I, like Sita, for one, do not like to just fight and throw our forces left and right… Or did you not realize that your actions as a guide would affect the perception of Ozymandias as the one who recommended you for the position?"

Hearing these words, Nitocris momentarily froze…

After which she raised her hands to her face and covered it in consternation, her mind taking a heavy blow. 'I suck even in failing! What is wrong with me! Is this my punishment for dying without the Pharaoh's funeral ceremonies?! Payback for meeting Ozymandias in person?! Why am I doing so badly…'

"This way," Nitocris finally managed to pull her hands away from her face and point to the side, determined not to sully her hero's name any further. "We're almost into sphinx territory – so we need to turn east now…"

Although, she's afraid that she would fail even at that.

---

Mashu shifted her gaze to Arthuria, then to the silent fortress that is Camelot in the distance, whose silhouette glitter especially brightly in the night. Actually, what time of day was it in this Singularity now?

Standing in a black desert with no visible light or even a clear sky, Mashu wasn't sure of the current time. Especially since the only temporal reference point was Administrator bothering them less and less.

'This version of Arthur, I don't really like' Mashu was almost pleased with Galahad's voice, glad for the distraction, as trying to start a dialogue with Arthuria was like trying to start a dialogue with a statue.

'Not that my Arthur was much of a talker – unless about food or chivalrous ideals, but this one… Ha, this one seems like it will just stand still even when it gets covered with sand over its head – or maybe even after that.'

Mashu couldn't really disagree with Galahad's comment as she watched Arthuria stand motionless in place, seemingly not even blinking, as she stared at the city in the distance.

While Mashu, at least occasionally, changed her posture – stretching her stiffened arms, strolling slightly around the perimeter of the small village, or listening to Administrator's complaints

Arthuria seemed like she was embedded in her current location and had no plans to change it for the next few centuries at least.

Mashu tried to ask Arthuria a few questions at first, seeing that she saw no other source of entertainment in front of her. But all she managed to get in response were one-word answers – short, dry, and cold, as if Mashu's question was just the passing of the wind.

'Look, I can't believe I'm advising this, but…' Galahad sighed in Mashu's head. 'But even a boring kind of talk is better than none… Try asking her about the ideals of chivalry. Arthur could talk for hours on this subject, saying nothing new, but repeating the same thing a hundred times. If this Arthur is even a little like her, it's bound to provoke at least some response from her…'

Mashu thought about Galahad's idea for a second. It's not that she was opposed to the idea of having a philosophical talk, she's just not that interested in it either.

But, it was probably better than just standing here silently, staring at Camelot or the bare desert, or trying to wait for the moment when Administrator would stop being busy and return to answer Mashu and Arthuria's questions about Camelot.

However, as soon as she opened her mouth to make the first sounds, Arthuria spoke first, "Someone is here."

Instantly, Mashu raised her shield – her role was to take the first blow from the enemy, whoever it was, so she should have been ready in the first place.

Looking at her preparations, however, Arthuria shook her head before turning her gaze toward the approaching figure.

'Oh…' Galahad suddenly opined unenthusiastically in her head, when Mashu got a glimpse of the approaching figure. 'Him…'

The approaching person looked extremely androgynous, so the very fact that he was a man was more a guess on Mashu's part than a fact. He was short, with a feminine silhouette with their hair gathered in a bun, reminiscent of…

Mashu blinked at the realization and shifted her gaze to Arthuria, standing nearby, noticing how her hair was fashioned in the same way.

Carrying on his shoulders a cloak that was once white, but clearly had time to suffer during his travels, hiding the right half of the body of a young man covered by armor. An armor that looks like steel, but at the same time, it is unblemished, as if the wearer had never had to participate in a battle.

In fact, it looked more like an armor one wears for ceremonial purposes…

After making his way towards Arthuria and Mashu, standing a dozen meters before them, the man stopped, after which he momentarily looked into Arthuria's eyes – receiving in return the gaze of Arthuria's cold eyes.

For a moment, the air was filled with emotion. Recognition, understanding, even… Warmth.

"Greetings," Even Arthuria's voice, always cold and distant before, was filled with something that Mashu could call welcoming.

"Sir Bedivere."

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 123: Atlas

Scáthach tried to ignore Medusa, who was walking beside her. Walking side by side with that monster's Servant, ignoring her instinct screaming at her that the woman beside her could receive the command to remove the last obstacle to her Master's plans… was nerve wracking. If only she could figure out Ainz's end game, it would be much easier for her, there's no way that monster wasn't planning something nefarious, with Scáthach standing as his only obstacle in his way for…

Something.

Something evil and dark – not that Scáthach had ever questioned the specifics of the motivations of the creatures on the other side of the Lands of Shadows. She just killed every single last one of them.

Usually, her job in the Lands of Shadows was simple enough. She, spear in hand, protected the passage to Earth and killed those monsters who, after gathering their own powers, tried to break through with the goal of devouring humans, and turning Earth into Hell… At least that's what she guessed their motives for trying to break through to the land of the living was.

None of the dark creatures of the Lands of Shadows, which could not be described other than 'monsters', had ever been one to give away specifics of their plans in battle with Scáthach. But most of the creatures she had met along the way had acted roughly in that scenario.

Scáthach had seen what the creatures of darkness were capable of. She had seen the dark gods destroy entire nations, change the world to suit their desires, consuming heroes and artifacts created to their doom before. And how the monsters, with no regard for human life, brought terror and chaos to the world.

For example, Medusa, though an unfortunate creature at the beginning of her story, she, though not of her own volition, in the end became a monster and had to be stopped. When her curse consumed her, and she lost all reason, only her desire to bring destruction to the world was left.

In the end, she had to be killed by Perseus.

Medusa's story was tragic, but what happened is simply the natural course of the world – the monster was killed by a hero, there was nothing unnatural about it…

Except for the fact that Medusa herself was now alive, under the control of an even more powerful monster. As far as Scáthach herself, who trusted her intuition, could tell, she also had gained new powers that were out of Scáthach's own range of knowledge.

And this same Medusa, who had become a monster with new powers, was now serving as a supervisor over Scáthach herself, controlling her every move and obeying Ainz's will. At least, if the information she had received from Nobunaga during their 'communication' – if you could call it that – was right.

Scáthach could say that knowing that this Medusa was different from the one she knew, was an unpleasant factor. Scáthach was confident that she could win a fight against the previous Medusa, she even put her chances against her monstrous version as somewhat favorable. But this one? The lack of information, on both the new Medusa and Ainz, could make any move on her part tantamount to suicide.

What was the point of killing Medusa if Ainz could easily resurrect her? It might even be that Medusa was in fact now far stronger than Scáthach herself?

Besides, as much as it galls her to admit – Ainz hadn't done anything really horrible at the moment, like trying to destroy Human History or something like that… Which, however, didn't mean that he wouldn't try it in the future.

Powerful and ancient entities like Ainz could plan centuries in advance, capable of quietly and slowly subjugating minds and institutions of power instead of brute intervention. But still, Scáthach's inner sense of justice, inherited from her years training her neglectful apprentice, demanded that she recognize the fact that, so far, Ainz hadn't done anything unequivocally indicative of his monstrous nature.

Aside from the brutal murder of several Servants in the past Singularity, of which Scáthach herself was one. Or the general feeling that he was this world's worst nightmare from the depths of the Lands of Shadows – if not deeper – that is.

Scáthach allowed herself to frown a little. Strictly speaking, the reasons she had for mistrusting Ainz did look, when viewed from all angles, not indicative of Ainz's guilt at all…

Even so, the instinct honed by thousands of years of killing monsters, couldn't be put aside in a matter of moments with such a creature. Even if it tries to show itself to be not only to be an intelligent, but also agreeable person.

Scáthach was not Christian – strictly speaking she was more suited to the notion of an atheist, given the irony of the situation, that a killer of gods would begin to worship such things. But she was aware of the fact that the Christians believe that the Devil, too, could appear 'agreeable'.

Deception was not a rare tactic that is out of the question. But even then, what could Scáthach do? There is no other option if they were to save the World, is it really out of the norm to choose the lesser evil? Sure, Ainz could be planning to take over the world, but at least there would be a world that could fight back.

But is Ainz truly the 'lesser' evil? There's a possibility that he's even worse than a 'greater' evil. After all, a lesser evil would be destructive and damaging to their surroundings, and a greater evil would be like a corrupting nature, using the people surrounding it to enhance its destructive nature. Then, what of Ainz?

Perhaps it was her own biases speaking, but she truly wondered what end game a creature like Ainz is planning, what makes it necessary for him to gather so many people to his side…

"While I'm not a fan of having conversations on the road," Medusa's voice, breaking through the silence, almost made Scáthach reflexively strike with her spear.

"But if you're going to keep glaring at me, as if contemplating where it is best to stab my back, the least you can do is say something."

Medusa's tone was not sarcastic, so much as she was simply conveying to Scáthach the fact of what was going on. Medusa had seen Scáthach's usual interactions to know that she simply didn't interact with others much, but the silence has perhaps gotten to her… The stares that are like daggers to her back also doesn't help.

Scáthach could only clench her jaw in response to Medusa's words, then look away, trying to think of a plan in her head, a way that could get her out of the momentary unpleasant position that had arisen.

In other words, Scáthach felt embarrassed.

Medusa, continuing to walk quietly behind the millennia-old Lancer with the social awareness of a five-year-old child, not knowing exactly how to engage in dialogue with a stranger other than 'let's be friends?'. Something which, in Scáthach's case, turned into 'let's fight to the death?'.

Seeing the silently panicking Scáthach, who had hid it expertly, a result of her fantastic poker face, only shook her head slightly.

Medusa had always been happy to act as the youngest of the Gorgon sisters, as long as Stheno and Euryale took care of her and protected her, but after… Pretty much just about everything that had happened to her since her summoning. The absorption of the Grail's power, the betrayal, and subsequent forgiveness of her sisters, and the beginning of her relationship with Ainz, along with so many other things – Medusa could feel that she was rapidly beginning to 'grow up'.

Not in terms of her physical state, of course – Medusa didn't know what she would do if she grew even bigger and more than she was now, but in terms of her emotional state.

And so, as if she were an older sister watching a particularly willful and incredibly strong child, Medusa was forced to make contact first.

"You know, we don't know that much about each other… I know some information about you that the Throne of Heroes gave me. About the Lands of Shadows and your role as the eternal guard between them and the human world, but I know almost nothing about you as a person… Which is not good, considering that we are both Servants now, and quite likely will be in contact with each other one way or another for a long time… If just because of our potential immortality with a master like Ainz."

Scáthach only frowned slightly at these words, and this time not simply because of her lack of social skills. First, she didn't know if she should inform Medusa of her wrong assumption, Scáthach wasn't a Servant at all. Though she had ample experience of immortality, she wasn't too sure how her current contract would work in the future, given that she became a Servant because of the destruction of humanity and the Shadow Lands.

She honestly hadn't thought that much about the future. Her original plan was to kill Ainz, or, if she couldn't think of a decent way to do it, to return to her eternal post between the human world and the Shadow Lands. But as Medusa had already pointed out, Scáthach was now a Servant, and therefore, with some theoretical probability, could be tied to Ainz for a long time, perhaps even forever.

In other words, just a few hundred years could change her worldview and view of Ainz significantly. In a few thousand years, she herself wouldn't even remember that she once wanted to kill Ainz or why she wanted to in the first place. Scáthach's mental stamina was great, but still not infinite. She had long ago lost any joy in defending the human world and killing monsters from the Shadow Lands, so a thousand years in a different environment could just as easily have wrinkled her convictions for protecting humanity from Ainz.

And Medusa, who had planted a seed of doubt in Scáthach's mind by mentioning this possibility, had already taken the first step against her, perhaps even on Ainz's orders. Truly, what a frightening being.

Upon realizing this, Scáthach instantly dismissed her past thoughts and turned away from Medusa before she could do any more damage. Scáthach started walking as quickly as possible in the direction of the city, over which the night sky of this Singularity shone with stars instead of black emptiness.

Medusa, left behind by the spear-wielding Servant, could only sigh inwardly as she watched the willful child refuse to speak, half embarrassed and half distrustful of the 'stranger' that was talking to her. Medusa simply hurried after her, deciding for the moment to set aside her previous attempts at dialogue and focus on her mission as the city draws near.

Gradually, as she approached closer, Scáthach was able to begin to discern the specific outline of the city. To be more precise, it was less of a city and more of a castle, with numerous temporary and semi-temporary settlements around it. The building ranged from established tent encampments to hastily constructed wooden shacks, and even some stately mansions that looked like they had been standing there for quite some time. The manors quite likely a heritage from the present history of the place rather than having been built after the Singularity's crisis began.

Other than these settlements, though, Scáthach 's attention was taken in by the castle with rising towers and fairly high stone walls topped with several flags, most with various designs of crosses on them, hanging on the gates leading inside.

"Even if I didn't know that this was the City of the Crusaders – it wouldn't be hard to guess from their general appearance." Scáthach glanced over the flags, many of which had been placed on the ground between the various tent encampments, as if they were some sort of protection against the darkness creeping in from the scorched wasteland.

The two Servants realized that their approach, out of the darkness of the wasteland, had caused a reaction among the people in the camp. And so, a few dozen seconds later, as Scáthach approached, she could see a group of people gathering to confront them.

Judging by their armaments, the people in the settlement seemed to have managed to raise something resembling a local militia, mostly just stout men armed with spears. Though looking closer, Scáthach could see that a minority were equipped with full armors, while most were lesser in quality, dressed in various patchworks of armor, leather, or chain mail.

Dealing with these men would simply be a matter of seconds and a dozen precise blows, no more than one for each of the men, but Scáthach chose to step forward and only raised her hands, showing their emptiness. A useless gesture, given that she could summon her spear instantly if she wished, and massacre every man in front of her, but the meaning of her gesture was unambiguous and calmed the assembled militia somewhat.

One of the men, a young man dressed in chainmail, stepped forward, then glanced at Scáthach and then at Medusa, who was standing slightly behind her. "My name is Captain Lancel, and I'll tell you blandly, you don't look like anyone from these parts and I don't trust you… And I don't think there are any other places in the world from which travelers can come to this damned place, not to mention that two young girls can't have survived long in the wastelands. So, identify yourselves!"

Scáthach thought about her answer for a moment – what exactly should she answer the people in front of her? It was unlikely that they knew who or what the Servants were, but given the state of the world – it was logical to assume that they would at least not be surprised by magic and its practices in this world… Although, calling herself a 'witch' while in a crusader camp was a rather stupid decision. That is, unless Scáthach herself was simply planning to stage a battle with these people…

"All right, Captain, I'll take it from here." A voice from behind the group of militia, however, caused them to turn around instantly. And then with a nod, an international sign of respect, the militia began to disperse to the sides after a single word from the mystery person… Pronounced in a female high voice.

Scáthach frowned slightly – her knowledge of the Crusaders and significant figures among them was rudimentary at best, so she could not immediately recall any famous female Crusader… So it was likely that she had run into a Servant, and yet how could it be?

Straining her senses, Scáthach could not feel anything unusual from the figure of a girl dressed in tailored armor with a crested cape, white with a large red cross over her shoulders, as she appeared from behind the militia.

Somehow the strange occurrence made her think of Ainz again. Scáthach could instantly identify Ainz as something 'foul' in this world, but could not determine that he was a Servant… Yet the Servant before her, because she was definitely a Servant even if her sense was failing her at the moment, did not evoke the same disgusting feeling inside Scáthach as Ainz did.

In any case, the comparison did not add to Scáthach's confidence, causing her to frown more as she looked at the short girl who had just appeared.

The girl, and most likely the Servant, was somewhat similar in her appearance to Mashu, whom Scáthach had seen only a few dozen minutes ago. Except that her features were slightly more feminine, and her glasses were of a different model, one that is a poor match of her knightly appearance.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself…" The girl smiled slightly at Scáthach before shifting her gaze to Medusa before suddenly standing stock still as if Medusa had removed her glasses.

Scáthach automatically glanced at Medusa to see if there's something wrong, only to see that the Servant had also become frozen.

The two girls, both wearing glasses, began silently looking at each other, and Scáthach could see the calculating look in both of their eyes, before each of them blinked simultaneously, and they took a step toward each other.

"Medusa," Medusa calmly revealed her name, as if she hadn't even given away her biggest secret, the secret of her identity, to a potential adversary.

"Jacques," The girl smiled, shaking Medusa's hand, then shifted her gaze to Scáthach, offering a hand that Scáthach wouldn't take. "Jacques de Vitry."

---

Sita stared ahead – or rather, she tried to. As an Archer, her eyesight was far better than that of the other Servants she's with, and she could discern much smaller and more insignificant details than the others. But even so, all she saw before her was the desert in its various configurations, or more their lack of one.

The high dunes, the slow-flowing sand plains, the dust storms rising in the distance – all in all it was possible to say that what Sita saw was even, in a sense, beautiful. A picture created by an artist, capturing the beauty of a cruel, endless ocean of sand, but, as usually happens, the more one observes beautiful things, the more easily one gets used to them.

In Sita's case, this fact was compounded by the fact that, in addition to the beautiful vista, she also felt the desert grow freezing as night fell. As if the heat of the day were a mere mirage, and the cold wasteland stretching into the distance was its true form.

The night sky, studded with stars, a rare sight for anyone from the modern world, indicated that even in this damned ruined Singularity with a mangled history of humanity, there was still something beautiful about it. With the overbearing heat of the day and the need to constantly raise her hand to her eyes to escape the glittering sand and the bright sun gone, Sita's eyesight should have been easier.

But even so Sita was, to be honest, tired of the constant landscape, and she felt her eyes begin to blur.

Under normal circumstances it was easy enough to get rid of this effect, you could just sleep or rest in some other way, not that the Servants physically needed sleep. Still, it does help the Servant relax any accumulated emotional fatigue.

But even if sleeping on the back of a moving sphinx was easy enough, not that it was actually easy, Sita couldn't sleep. At this moment, Sita was on a mission while in enemy territory, and in theory could be attacked at any second, so she couldn't rest.

Not that she seriously expected to be attacked by unknown adversaries anytime soon.

Nitocris had led Sita and Medb around the wild sphinx's territory, and Medb had sort of made an alliance agreement with Ozymandias. Sita had no doubt that no other Servants would dare invade Ozymandias territory… unless they're prepared to start a huge war, that is.

At the same time, however, Sita could not allow herself to relax completely either. Potential problems during her mission could affect her assessment by Ainz, which would in turn affect his willingness to rid her and Rama of their curse, which was Sita's main and only goal.

Even if she wanted to, the prospect of failing her love would not let her sleep. And so, Sita's fatigue added to her nervousness, made for a dangerous cocktail, only further burdening her mind, which contributed further to both her fatigue and her nervousness. The vicious cycle would only end, seemingly, until Sita made some huge mistake… or she dropped dead.

And that moment, of course, came as soon as she thought about it.

As Sita's sphinx took another step into the same unassuming desert, a patch of sand same as everywhere else as far as the eye can see, the sand seemed to swallow the foot whole. With a lurch as the beast began falling, Sita grasped the sphinx with all her might to try to right it, or to pull it back to safety. It didn't take long for Sita to realize the efforts were doomed as more and more of the sand began falling.

With no other choice, Sita let go of the reins and jumped as far as she could be away from the falling sands to safety. Sita could only watch as the desert seemingly ate the Sphinx.

In a strange, unrealistic picture, the sand where Sita had just been walking before, collapsed downwards, as if the sand were actually hanging over a void. A balance that Sita had disturbed, ending with the death of the sphinx… Or not? The sphinx seems to be just fine… The collapse exposed something beneath the sand, a ruin with time-dried stone and metal bones, rising up as the desert receded, like the teeth of a hungry beast.

However, the sand wasn't actually falling into the recesses of the ruins, instead continuing to fall downwards disappearing into nowhere, exposing more and more ruins. Ruins that, on closer inspection, were not ruins at all, but only the dusty and sand-covered remains of a very modern building.

Or perhaps futuristic would be the better word, as modern when in regard to a time of Ramses II would be more likely to refer to a medieval time period. No, the building, all made up of steel and glass, wouldn't look out of place in the world outside the Singularity, if actually even more advanced – the most advanced scientific laboratory of the twenty-first century… Is it weirder to contemplate the ancient people were in fact capable of such advanced technology. Or that by a strange coincidence, an advanced laboratory from the future somehow were covered, and transported into a Singularity reflecting the altered reality of the Crusades.

Sita had seen many things that challenged her view of the world – her Master for instance, but for some reason, it was the sight of modern electronics that looked especially wild in this Singularity.

With a long-drawn growl, bordering on annoyed and even somewhat resentful, the sphinx, dragged down by streams of sand, managed to wriggle out a moment later than his sandy prison descended even lower. The lowering sands exposed a corridor going down, but before Sita could see any further the giant bulk of the Sphinx, jumping back onto the cliff edge a dozen meters above the floor of the ruined laboratory, blocked her view.

"Hmm," Medb's voice distracted Sita further. "There they are, the ruins of Atlas…"

Sita nodded, realizing what she's seeing, but Nitocris, obviously uninformed about what was going on and likely didn't even know exactly where she was leading the two Servants, just turned a puzzled look at Medb, "Ahem, I know I sound stupid for bringing you here, wherever here is, without knowing where I'm brining you to… I mean, I knew that this place was an anomaly within Lord Ozymandias' kingdom, but I'm not sure exactly what kind of place it is…"

"The ruins of Atlas," Medb answered again, as if it explained everything, then shifted her gaze and, realizing by the sight of Nitocris and her incomprehensible furrowed brow, that she had no idea what Medb was talking about, exhaled. "It's a laboratory… No, perhaps it's better described as a research institute, a magical one. It's also one of the main organizations of magi in human history – its most advanced and most amoral one, a haven for mad scientists. At least those that are more mad and amoral than the 'ordinary' magi of the Magical Association – quite the feat, I assure you. It is also a library of all kinds of forbidden knowledge, a repository of all kinds of forbidden artifacts, and the final resting place of many magi who decided to devote themselves entirely to their art. Mostly those which all their other colleagues considered unsuitable for public access. In one word, Atlas."

After her brief explanation, Medb shifted her gaze to Nitocris, raising one eyebrow, "You must have received the same information that I did – no, perhaps more information than I did during my summoning shouldn't you?"

Hearing these words, Nitocris dropped her gaze. She hated to admit that, unlike so many Servants around her, she had been too focused on Ozymandias and her ability to help him at the time of her summoning. So much so, that she had not even paid attention to information about everything else and, by now, she had managed to forget half of what she had learned at the time of her summoning.

Besides, Nitocris was an inexperienced Pharaoh – she didn't know how to keep so much extra random information in her head all the time!

"Something must have happened during my summoning and I didn't get that information," Nitocris looked away, like a child hiding her grades behind her back with shame as she lied… badly.

From the look Medb and Sita threw at her, they definitely didn't believe her, but she'll stick to her story!

"I've talked to Ozymandias about it – it seems that there's nothing in Atlas that can be recovered or found – either they were already looted, or they weren't any in the first place. Even so, we're here not to find any artifacts, we just need to enter the core." Medb decided to move on, ignoring the incompetent Pharaoh.

Sita wondered for a moment what exactly Ozymandias had told Medb, and how the Pharaoh of the Pharaohs and the Queen of the Fairies even found common ground, but shrugged the thought away. Medb wanted Ainz's approval as much as Sita, if for different purposes, therefore she would not betray Sita, which meant Sita could simply ignore what was happening as irrelevant to the current situation.

Nitocris clearly didn't trust Medb on a similar level – but she trusted Ozymandias, and so, without hesitation, jumped off after Medb, who had reached the bottom, and was glancing down the passage. Seeing the two other Servants, Medb returned her attention to them before gesturing onwards. "Shall we go down? Hmm, too bad that the passage is too small… Humph, very well, I suppose I shall grace the halls of Atlas with me walking over it."

Before Nitocris could even comment, Medb completely ignored Nitocris' question as meaningless, and a moment later was on the ground, her palanquin melted away like a mirage along with Medb's minions.

Without waiting for the other two, Medb started walking, going down the steps, then lower and lower.

Sita followed her, along with Nitocris, and after a short period of time, they all descended underground, while their sphinxes remained waiting for them on the surface.

Step by step, gradually, the corridors began to grow darker and darker – until at the next step, with a slight flickering sound, they were flooded with soft light, coming seemingly from all directions.

"I didn't expect the lighting to survive the current conditions." Medb remarked to herself, addressing no one in particular.

"It didn't, I just fixed it," Suddenly receiving a response in the form of a young but confident male voice, Medb paused for a moment. Sita glanced at her, trying to determine whether she should prepare for battle, but apparently not at the moment, judging by Medb's relaxed appearance.

After a moment more, Sita heard footsteps echoing softly down the empty corridor, slightly muffled by the sand scattered along the corridor.

"Who are you?" Nitocris was the only one who reacted to the voice that came out of nowhere, somewhat hostile, and then she frowned as she saw the figure emerge from an inconspicuous corner.

A young man, dressed in a gentleman's suit – white shirt, black pants, black vest, and over the vest, a gray raincoat. On his feet, polished patent black shoes, managing to keep their cleanliness even in the current conditions, and in his hands, clad in black gloves, a cane in his right, and a lighted smoking pipe in his left.

"Hmm, how unusual." The man, not at all bothered by Nitocris' reaction nor the other two Servants in front of him, only put the pipe to his lips and then took a puff while leaning on his cane. "The young Pharaoh, Nitocris, the faithful wife, Sita and… Hmm, oh? A strange one, but let me start with a guess – the Queen of the fairies, Medb?"

Nitocris, blinking several times, both at the information she discovered about Medb and the fact that the intruder could easily identify the Servants with one look, only frowned even more, repeating her question. "Who are you?"

"Who am I, indeed, hmm?" The man, leaning slightly on his cane, seemed a little amused by Nitocris' reaction.

"Well, the answer to that question is actually quite simple… I would even say that it is…" The man took another breath from his smoking pipe and let out a small ring of smoke, which instantly dispersed, hiding the features of his face behind the ash, or perhaps to add some mystery to his identity.

"Elementary, my dear…"

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 124: Semiramis

Ainz looked at the woman, Semiramis, before him, thoughtfully.

Once again he encountered a World Class Item, or something comparable, and once again its possessor does not understand what Ainz is talking about. In fact, she's looking at him with a look of irritation, arrogance, and interest – interest, at the very least, in the fact that he mentioned a term unknown to her.

Ainz thought about it for a moment, could he steal Semiramis' palace? By all appearances, Tesla's WCI was merely an ability, while his gloves were merely artifacts, but Semiramis' WCI hovered in the air as quite the tangible physical object… Ainz was quite willing to go to great lengths to get another WCI for his armory, an addition to the eleven WCIs already in his inventory.

Even if it meant ruining relations with some Servants and finishing Semiramis off right now.

On the other hand, the WCIs familiar to Ainz were various objects like gauntlets, scrolls, spears, or something similar. In general, they were objects that players could carry in their inventory, the largest of which was the size of a full armor and also fit perfectly in Ainz's inventory, like 'powered suits' for players, for example.

If the WCI was an entire castle… Ainz wasn't sure if he could even fit an entire flying palace in his inventory.

In theory, of course, there was a WCI much larger than Ainz himself that he couldn't fit into his inventory either, the Throne of Kings. But that one was completely embedded in Nazarick's Throne Room, with no ability to be moved, since its functions were specific to the Nazarick.

Could the soaring palace of Semiramis obey the same logic? No, judging by Ainz's own senses, the whole palace was the WCI. Even if he stole Semiramis's throne now, it might be useless. If he could do it at all of course…

"How much longer do you plan to look at me as if you were trying to size me up for butchering?" Semiramis' voice cut through Ainz's occupied mind. "I've conceded defeat, but don't think that means you can treat me with no respect now."

Ainz thought for a moment, should he be treating Semiramis with respect at this point? No, she had attacked him first, and now Ainz was contemplating appropriate compensation, the WCI would have served him well in this, but it still needed to be obtained, and Ainz had some problems with that. Hmm, maybe Semiramis herself could give him a clue?

"Hmm, I see," Ainz shifted his gaze to Semiramis, "I beat you, didn't I?"

Semiramis narrowed her eyes at that, clearly not wanting to agree with Ainz' words, but having to do so, at least, so she wouldn't look even stupider in denying the obvious. "You may call it that…"

'Didn't you yourself say you lost, a moment ago?' Ainz frowned. 'Or what, she's already figured out I don't want to kill her, and now she's trying to quickly gloss over the past as if it never happened? A cheap trick, Semiramis!'

"In that case, I'm entitled to a loot, that is, a reward, isn't it?" Ainz wasn't really sure whether he was entitled to anything like that. But realizing that Semiramis was perfectly capable of ignoring her defeats and was clearly one of those who always tried to put herself above others, he decided not to let his guard down by answering confidently.

Semiramis only pursed her lips at these words, squinting her eyes even more, so that they became narrow little slits, looking at Ainz as if she were one step away from attacking again.

Semiramis' pressure, however, was not that significant to Ainz. He had defeated her in combat a moment ago, and unless she had used some unseen ability in the past minute to become much stronger, there's nothing to fear about fighting again.

If Semiramis' attempt to pressure Ainz was eliciting any emotion, it was primarily irritation.

'Huh, she reminds me so much of a boss from my past life. The kind who always pretends that any problem they cause was not their problem and that everyone should only be happy that they condescended from their office to people… Huh, she also reminds me of Nobunaga, only somehow even worse. I just beat Nobunaga once, and she's already much better behaved. I've already beaten Semiramis, but that doesn't help. Hah, it's starting to get on my nerves!'

A moment later, Momonga's irritation crossed an invisible line and triggered his emotion suppression – it hasn't completely gone from his thoughts, though, it just transformed from an interfering emotion into a structured fact. Luckily, it came as Semiramis herself began to speak,

"And what does the intruder of my house want from the Queen of Assyria?"

"An intruder? Do I need to remind you that you attacked me first?" Ainz frowned – no one warned him in any way that he was entering someone's territory! Even if he had indeed trespassed, the first thing she should have done was to meet him and explain to him what had happened, a warning even! He would even be willing to pay some fine, if it was small – but to try to attack him immediately? Besides, Semiramis apparently did not attack him in warning, but immediately tried to kill him – and now pretended as if it was Ainz' own fault!

Semiramis were beginning to open her mouth to reply to Ainz. But he, whose emotions had been suppressed again, nevertheless left him with the clear knowledge that he was absolutely right in this situation and Semiramis' reaction annoyed him, simply interrupted her. "I have decided – I will be taking your soaring fortress."

After Ainz's declaration, Semiramis, who obviously wanted to answer Ainz arrogantly, suddenly blinked stupidly, not having time to close her mouth at such unexpected words. Before, after a moment, her visage changed, from a cold mask of proud Queen to cast a look of contempt, anger, and even some strange respect. "Is it not too much you ask from-!"

"I'm not asking, I'm telling you as a matter of fact." Ainz simply interrupted her again, confident of his superiority after their battle. And, though once again made devoid of his annoyance at her, was still mindful of the emotions she had provoked in him. "I'm taking your palace – not sure if it has any worthy use, but it will be a suitable compensation for your insults and your attempted murder of me."

Semiramis blinked for a moment, as if she really hadn't expected this turn of events, as if trying to determine whether she should continue acting like a ruler, trying to maintain her mask. Before she decided to suppress her arrogance for a moment and look at Ainz not with cold arrogance but with a real open emotion – though in this case not much better – as it was overflowing with anger, "How about 'no'?!"

"I wasn't asking." Ainz took a step forward, feeling chains rise up around him again, trying to cut into his body and entangle his legs, to stop him.

These chains were not overly strong, inflicting piercing damage that Ainz was best protected against, and finally trying to impose the restraining effect that Ainz was also protected against. Trying to hold Ainz down with dozens of these chains that appeared out of nowhere was like trying to hold down a hurricane with one's fingers – utterly useless. It only emphasized the power of the approaching element rather than actually protecting from it.

After a few more seconds, another attempt, this time from chains and stakes to magic, only for her to realize that neither she herself had grown stronger in the past minute nor Ainz had lost his abilities. By the time Ainz approached the stairs leading to her throne, Semiramis still, with great reluctance, lowered her gaze, showing something akin to admitting defeat.

At least this time she had learned to do so much sooner – doing the same thing expecting different results is just madness after all. "Okay, enough."

Ainz hesitated for a moment, taking a step on the first step leading to the throne, then, determined not to let Semiramis dictate her terms, he took another step.

"I said that's enough! I said no more!" The girl tried to sound indignant, but instead sounding desperate instead, showing Ainz that her earlier behavior had been nothing more than a trick.

Ainz felt the Servant's ability begin to work on him again, poisoning his body, but it couldn't stop Ainz. How do you poison a skeleton?

Semiramis hesitated for a moment, finding that Ainz's Dimension Lock was still active, and she couldn't summon or teleport as she pleased. She then glanced at Ainz as he continued up the stairs toward her, causing Semiramis herself to freeze in doubt. She could, of course, have risen from her throne, continuing to try to attack Ainz, or moved elsewhere to fight, but it was equal to simply admitting defeat, leaving the throne that Ainz demanded her to give up.

On the other side, continuing to sit still, Semiramis was powerless to stop Ainz. And so instead of 'a monarch capable of destroying anyone before her gaze', she instead looked as if unable to even move from her seat, allowing Ainz to do whatever he wanted.

These thoughts were repugnant to Semiramis, the antithesis of all that the Queen of Assyria was – but for all her 'disagreeable' personality, at least she was capable of acknowledging the reality before her eyes.

And the cruel reality was that there was no way for Semiramis to keep her title of ruler and her pride in peace, rejecting any possibility of defeat even while being defeated.

Technically speaking, Semiramis could have committed her final act of resistance to reality by committing suicide right now and blowing up her Hanging Gardens. But in that case all Semiramis herself would have achieved was to look like a frightened girl cornered by Ainz, which, in fact, she was.

In other words, Ainz had cornered Semiramis completely. And before she could decide on her options, Ainz had chosen it for her, climbing the last step and ending up in front of Semiramis' throne herself, looking down straight at her seated form.

Semiramis, now being confronted directly, could only shift her gaze up to Ainz. Then, retaining the remnants of her pride, held her nose high, showing her attitude toward Ainz, and at the same time setting her neck for a suitable execution for her royal persona.

A moment later, however, Semiramis felt a firm hand touch her body… At the place of her waist.

Semiramis did not have time to react to this before the second hand appeared on her waist, her own perception of such an unexpected situation had not even formed in her mind.

Before she felt herself lifted into the air.

Semiramis's thoughts were all in disarray. Of all the options for her immediate future, she definitely hadn't considered this one, before she felt herself in free flight.

Semiramis' situation changed so quickly and unexpectedly that she didn't even have time to react to her flight, falling to the floor a moment later with a loud thud and landing on her butt instead of her feet.

Semiramis blinked confused, as if trying to absorb in her head everything that had just happened in the last moments of her life, before realizing her situation.

The unknown intruder, who never introduced himself to her, who felt in her perception like the Old Man of the Mountain, climbed up to her throne before lifting her in his arms and…

Threw her off the throne a moment later, causing her to plop down on her ass.

The situation, what happened, was so out of left field to Semiramis' familiar patterns of behavior that she could not even summon any emotion appropriate to what had happened. And so, rather than try to finish off her opponent by simply continuing to sit in her seat, she was busy trying to understand what an appropriate reaction to what had happened was.

However, faced with such an unexpected and strange event that did not fit into her view of the world around her, her brain had short-circuited, depriving Semiramis of the ability to form full thoughts. Causing her to slowly rise from the floor, shaking herself off, in a state of prostration instead of a suitable response.

"Hmm, hmm, I see," The intruder's voice made Semiramis look up, seeing that Ainz was perusing the throne room as he settled on her throne. "So this is how it works? I wish I could take it with me from Singularity – but it's not bad, definitely a nice bonus on this Singularity. Though the speed, of course, leaves a lot to be desired. Speaking of which, as it happens, can you tell me where this… Old Man of the Mountain is at the moment? The one you have me confused with?"

Semiramis blinked once, then twice, before the intruder snapped his fingers in front of her face as she's still in a state of catatonia. "Ermm, Semiramis? Are you there?"

"Ah, yes, he's a little farther away, in the Alamut territory." Semiramis replied on pure reflex before she blinked again and finally came to.

Just now in her Hanging Gardens, her great Noble Phantasm, attributed to her according to legend, as crucial to Semiramis' as her name, an unknown man who looked like the Old Man from the Mountain had suddenly invaded. He then defeated her, and then threw her from her throne, sat in her throne himself and took control of her Hanging Gardens. And now, from what Semiramis herself could sense, directed the Hanging Gardens toward Alamut, where the Old Man himself still appeared to be.

"Will you show me the way?" The intruder turned to Semiramis with such insolent impudence, as if he had not just committed a dozen insults to her royal person and made an eternal enemy in her. So brazen that Semiramis could not find any other answer within herself except for – to agree.

"Yes, of course…"

---

Arthuria gazed into the frozen figure of Sir Bedivere staring at her, trying to determine what she felt most at the moment.

Was it Joy? An emotion so rare in this form for her? The joy of seeing her old friend, her faithful follower, who was beside her during her last moments on that cursed hill of bodies?

Perhaps Sadness? The detached sadness that came from the depths of her memory? Sadness that this was not 'that' Bedivere, that he was not 'her' old friend, but only the Bedivere of this world, of this Singularity – as she herself was not 'that' King Arthur.

Or perhaps even Doubt? A feeling borne of fear and confusion breaking even through her indestructible mask of cold detachment? Did this Bedivere serve the King Arthur of this world, was he her enemy, should she be preparing for another battle?

Would she be forced to kill yet another of her Knights?

Emotions, always so detached from Arthuria, crept inside her mind, causing her, who was always ready to fight, to follow orders, to freeze in indecision, as she raised her hand to her blade.

"Arthuria?" Mashu's confused and worried voice reached Arthuria's ears, but it could not make her look away from her old friend.

"Sir Bedivere." Arthuria slowly tilted her head slightly, greeting her old friend, all the while preparing herself to separate his head from his body. "What brings you to this settlement?"

Bedivere, who had been silently surveying Arthuria for the previous dozen seconds, only slowly lowered his gaze before dropping to one knee, head down in the picture perfect of supplication. "My king…"

"Rise, Sir Bedivere." Arthuria said calmly, as she has done so many times before, and Bedivere obeyed the order, rising from his knee before raising his gaze to Arthuria again, displaying a smile without an ounce of joy in his gaze.

"Is this also the result of my mistakes?" Bedivere said these words with a sardonic smile, before he moved closer to Arthuria, still looking at her with unbridled sadness. "I am sorry, my king."

"Don't be," Arthuria only shook her head slightly. "I assume, Sir Bedivere, you have not come here on an order from Camelot?"

"Camelot?" Taking another step, now a few feet away, Bedivere frowned before asking in a somewhat uncertain voice. "My king, you don't… You don't know about the Lion Goddess?"

Arthuria frowned inwardly at the unfamiliar title. Lions were part of the usual heraldry of her native Britain, so calling her a 'Lion King' or similar was possible. But no King of Britain, including herself, had ever thought to compare herself to Gods…

Besides, even assuming that he would take on such a thing – Arthuria would have called herself a 'Lion God', just as she was 'King' Arthur. She had always maintained her masquerade as a man – and so naming herself as 'Goddess' was counterproductive in this case.

If we're talking about Arthuria herself, of course.

Who she was now and who she remembered her being in this world were two very different people – even if we're talking about the other Arthuria of the other world, or this Singularity.

"All right, judging by the fact that most of this settlement is still alive, you have fulfilled your duties and I have two minutes to fulfill my end of the bargain." Administrator's voice, a very surprising one, coming from behind Arthuria told her that the time for answers coincided with the moment of new questions.

The Administrator's light but too loud for a trained Assassin's step behind her coincided with the moment when Sir Bedivere took a step to the side. And only at that moment could Arthuria see that the dusty gray cloak that covered Bedivere's right side covered nothing behind it, revealing no arm, no blade, and even no sheath.

The administrator took a step to the side from behind her back, froze, looking at Bedivere, then examined Arthuria and, noticing their considerable resemblance, spoke up. A mistaken assumption or a very crude attempt at humor, Arthuria couldn't really tell. "If you could create your own clone to protect the settlement, consider me surprised and even grateful."

Bedivere did not respond to the jest, and neither did Mashu, to whom Arthuria glanced momentarily, and, realizing that she was the only one who could resolve the misunderstanding, she spoke up. "No, it's my…"

Arthuria thought for a moment, before, almost reluctantly, as if slowly turning on the axis of a creaking mechanical cog, she squeezed out her answer. After all, there is no more Camelot, and no more Knights of the Round, and she has to keep her identity secret nonetheless. "This is my friend."

The glances of the three Servants crossed over her at these words, before the Administrator was the first to a reaction, shrugging his shoulders. "There's no protection for this settlement besides you, so I'll take your word for it. We've been short of friends lately, so if you've managed to find one, I'll take it as a favor from God… for what it's worth in these circumstances."

There was silence again for a moment, before the Administrator spoke up once again, "Well, I promised to answer your questions – unless you've discovered an unexpectedly great love for standing in the sand and looking out into the distance, and protecting this humble village, come along. We should speak behind closed doors about such matters… even if it is the closed doors of a ramshackle hut built in haste."

Arthuria, casting one last glance in the distance at Camelot, nodded at these words and followed after the leaving Administrator.

---

Mashu made herself a little more comfortable, as comfortable as she could afford to be with the desperately creaking wooden little stool. She had nothing else to as she's getting ready to listen to the Administrator, as he made his way to the top of the ungainly wooden table, and prepared to speak.

"I think we should start with what you already know. No need to have me repeat myself in case you were blind to the obvious." He glanced around at everyone present, fixing his eyes on Bedivere for a moment before he sighed and continued speaking,

"We've got an apocalypse on our hands here, a lot of Servants battling out, with a few forming their own groups. There's the Holy City, controlled by the Lion Goddess, Assyria, ruled by that insufferably arrogant queen, and the Egyptian Kingdom, ruled by Ozymandias. Of course last, but perhaps a bit of the least, is us the sect of Assassins, and finally the Crusaders, or what's left of them, who are also ruled by a Servant. The Assyrian Queen and Ozymandias are trying to play their state games, pretending that the Apocalypse will disappear if we pretend it doesn't exist."

The Administrator shrugged, as if not condemning what's happening, but saying something like 'what else would you expect from them?'.

"Us the Assassins and the Crusaders are mostly just trying to survive and try to take care of all kinds of refugees moving toward or leaving the Holy City. What the Lion Goddess is planning, I have no idea. Mostly she just sits around, saving her strength and conducting the Holy Selection."

"What is Holy Selection?" Mashu asked the Administrator after hearing the unfamiliar term, a question that interested at least her, Galahad, and Arthuria.

"The Holy City Selection." The Administrator once again simply shrugged, then glanced at Bedivere before he continued speaking.

"From what the refugees tell us, every day at noon, people who want to be tested come to the gates of the Holy City, and then one of the Knights of the Lion Goddess comes out to the people. Sometimes the light from the sky points to some people, after which they are let into the city. Those left behind sometimes just leave, sometimes stay under the walls, sometimes they are attacked and killed indiscriminately by knights. It's hard to say what triggers this and how another Holy Selection will turn out – but those who survive what happened usually go away, to other nations, to us, to the Crusaders… Or die in the wastelands on the way, maybe because they got lost, whatever happens they die either way, swallowed by the sands."

Mashu blinked, trying to absorb the information in her head.

"Are they killing people? Is that what you want to ask next?" Administrator correctly picked up on Mashu's unasked question, then nodded with a slight exhale. "Sometimes. Sometimes not."

"Why?" Arthuria asked calmly.

"I have no idea," The Administrator only shrugged as an answer, before he thought about it some more for a moment.

"Sometimes the Knights of the Goddess go on patrols, usually they hunt other Servants, or other people. But for all the power of her Knights, they are not invincible. Ozymandias and Semiramis, especially in their own land, are too strong even for them – so they typically stay away from their domains. How the Crusaders would hold up in such a case – I have no idea."

"And you?" Arthuria looked up at the Administrator, silencing him for a moment. "You are weak – how are you still alive?"

At Arthuria's words the Administrator was silent, and although Mashu could not see his face, she was absolutely sure that he was staring back at Arthuria. The atmosphere in the room grew cold with the pause, before the Administrator answered slowly. "We buy them time. Day by day – life by life. We're lucky that we can buy a lot of time – thanks to our peculiarities, there are many lives to sacrifice."

Arthuria, clearly aware of something, nodded slowly, then looked up. "How many are dead?"

"Sixty, the last time we gathered…" The administrator turned his face away, as if to look away at something in the distance. "It's been almost a week since then, so perhaps seventy already died."

'From everything I know and feel, this Administrator is a lousy fighter – his friends probably aren't much better – but they deserve my respect, their sacrifices are great as it is noble.' Galahad's voice in Mashu's mind made her blink as she realized what he was saying.

'Are they just sacrificing themselves, dying one or two a day?!' Mashu asked into the emptiness of her mind – well that, and to Galahad as well.

'They don't have many options, they can sacrifice themselves, or they can sacrifice people – and they chose the very noble option, they have my respect for that'

Galahad sighed, as a knight who uphold chivalry, it was something that he respected – it still doesn't make it much easier to hear. 'It's a tough situation really…'

"What about the others?" Arthuria questioned the Administrator. "With all the nobility of self-sacrifice, if the Goddess doesn't risk messing with Ozymandias or Semiramis, why not get their patronage?"

At these words, the Administrator only exhaled, and then looked up again, this time he couldn't hide the tiredness in his voice. "We tried."

Judging by the fact that there was no subsequent explanation of the situation, there was no point in speculating about the results of the negotiations.

"I see," Arthuria said distinctly, as if giving a disappointing verdict on the situation before she thought for a moment, "Who is the Lion Goddess?"

'Here comes the expected answer,' Galahad sighed in Mashu's head, causing her to nod slowly, aware of what would follow as an answer.

"King Arthur," Administrator, simply shrugged. "One of them, for God knows how many there really are."

Arthuria merely nodded calmly at this, clearly knowing the answer to her question in advance, needing only confirmation before she turned her gaze to Bedivere. "In this case, there is only one question I have for you… Sir Bedivere, what is your relationship to the Lion Goddess?"

Bedivere lowered his eyes slightly at these words before he sighed and raised his gaze to Arthuria.

"I have come to kill King Arthur…"

Then, realizing exactly what he'd said and who he'd said it to, Bedivere was a little embarrassed. "I mean, not you, but that King Arthur…"

'Yup…' Galahad sighed in Mashu's head, and she was forced to agree with his assessment.

'There is more and more information, but the situation is still not becoming clearer and easier…'

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 125: Royalty

Nitocris waited a few moments, intently waiting for clarification from the man, who simply was content to take drags from his smoking pipe. Before, she realized with a start that the Servant had no further intention of explaining his words and looked at him suspiciously. "And?"

"And? And what?" The man looked at Nitocris with a slightly interested expression, then shifted his gaze to Medb before raising one eyebrow. A sign whose meaning passed over Nitocris' head, to which Medb responded with an almost apologetic breath. "She's not very smart."

Nitocris, realizing that Medb's comment was directed at her, allowed herself to irritably twitch her bunny ear on top of her, as she looked at the two Servants who had just mocked her openly. The man, noticing this irritation, finally took the smoking pipe away from his lips. As he did so, it dispersed a moment later, demonstrating that it was part of the Servant himself, like his weapons and clothing, and therefore absolutely essential to his legendary image.

What kind of man has a smoking pipe to be part of their legend?

"My name, Lady Nitocris, is Sherlock Holmes." The man in the prime of his life, who had introduced himself as the legendary detective Sherlock Holmes, nodded slightly. The act caused Nitocris, who had received as much information from the Throne of Heroes as any of the Servants, but who still failed to recognize the great detective when he used his famous phrase, had her ears twitching again. This time, however, in great embarrassment, causing her to lower her eyes to the ground.

'Amazing, Nitocris – what else are you going to manage to screw up? Are you sure your Noble Phantasm won't work backwards or something?!'

"Oh, I see you are familiar with my background after all – please don't worry, my nature was hard enough to determine…"

"Lack of discipline in communication is the indulgence of misguided stupidity." Medb cut Holmes off abruptly, as he tried to console Nitocris, interrupting him before she glanced down the wide but empty passage leading ahead at a slight angle. "Ozymandias had not warned of your presence…"

"Ah, if he did, it would have been a great surprise to me," Holmes shook his head slightly, with a joking demeanor. "Considering that he was unaware of my presence. And, I suppose, he was unaware that I even existed in the first place."

Nitocris, who had instantly grasped the important information, was determined to bring it to Ozymandias' ears as soon as she could.

"A splendid idea, my dear." Holmes merely nodded as if he could read Nitocris's thoughts before turning away, ignoring the others and walking forward. "I confess that fixing Atlas took somewhat longer than I had hoped or calculated. Indeed, I had wished to make the necessary actions without the presence of strangers, so I had hid myself."

"It's rather unfortunate, then, that you won't be able to do it now, isn't it?" Medb, disregarding Holmes' paternalistic attitude and his disdain, followed after him, forcing the silent Sita and Nitocris to follow them.

"Hmm…" Holmes, after walking a few steps, paused for a moment, glancing back at Medb with an inscrutable gaze, before returning to his relaxed stride. "I suppose so."

Step by step, the four Servants began to plunge beneath the ground, passing through empty, bending tunnels that glowed with a measured whiteness. Before, after a dozen minutes of silent walking, they reached the doors of what could only be described as a 'fortified vault'.

Bursting with a multitude of wires and mechanical panels, combined with strange mechanisms made of unknown alloys and materials, crossed by magical patterns that shuddered gently with each pulsation of the nuclei of similar structures. The door made for a very interesting sight, pretty much screaming to the world 'there's something important behind!'

"Truly… an interesting sight." Holmes paused for a moment, staring at the fortified door, before placing a hand upon his chin in a gesture of thoughtfulness, surveying the occult technical defenses with an educated eye. "I suppose that the next step is to – oh?"

A moment later, just as Medb took a step forward, seemingly with no intention of stopping in her tracks, not caring that a large door barred her way. The mechanical doors, with an almost inaudible click, moved, opening swiftly in front of Medb, allowing her to advance without stopping for a second.

"Indeed… I wonder." Holmes said calmly to himself, paying as much attention to Medb's actions as she did to a fly that passed her by, and equally quick to turn away from her as he also walked past the door. "I presume that I need not explain to you how Atlas' mainframe works and how it functions?"

"Do it if you want, it would certainly prove beneficial to that one." Medb lightly waved her hand as she pointed for a moment in Nitocris' direction, causing Holmes to shift his gaze to her, and for Nitocris to frown and look down, shifting a little uncertainly from foot to foot. Nitocris would really be glad of Holmes' explanation of what exactly Medb wanted to do with Atlas, or what she's supposed to be looking at. She couldn't really tell if something's supposed to be important, or what might just be the Atlas' equivalent of a toothbrush – but at the same time not wishing to admit to another of her thousand deficiencies.

On the other hand, if Nitocris had already failed on all fronts – was it any difference whether she had failed a hundred thousand errands or a hundred thousand one?

"So, hm, this is the search system of Atlas and the repository of all knowledge available in Atlas – but, not only for the knowledge obtained in the institute. In other words…"

"It's the collection of all human knowledge." Nitocris said slowly, turning her gaze to the frozen, slightly shimmering small panel, extending with cables and racks to the floor.

"In some sense, yes." Holmes did not agree with Nitocris completely, and continued to elaborate.

"It is not a library – it is more correct to say it is a search function instead – a directory of knowledge. You should only ask it a question, and it will lead you to the necessary information. The question is, of course, what question should you ask?"

Medb made her way to the panel, touched it with her hand, and then froze. Nitocris, waiting for her next move, stared at Medb's back, waiting intently for her next move.

Which didn't happen in a second, five or twenty.

Medb froze with her hand outstretched to the panel, perfectly still, allowing Nitocris to look closely at what she's touching. Was it flickering with some strange colors? Were there any occult symbols or lines of code running across the screen? Was Medb trying to influence the computer in any way at this moment?

Nitocris didn't know exactly how Atlas' computers were supposed to work or what Medb was planning to learn from it, so she carefully tried to identify the girl's actions with her eyes. Try as she might, but she couldn't pick up anything out of the ordinary. According to what she's seeing, Medb had simply frozen with her hand on the panel, for several long minutes.

She even looked closely at the surrounding Servants, but Holmes continued to stare blankly at Medb and the panel. While Sita, apparently not at all uncomfortable with the situation, simply started glancing at her surroundings – looking out at the otherwise empty room except for Medb, frozen in the center with her hand on the… Control Panel?

At least that's what Nitocris could guess from her first glance at the room's decorations, correlating that with the information she now knew about Atlas. Is that what it's called? She's too ashamed to actually ask Holmes or the others about it.

The silence lasted a few moments more, before Medb, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at the time, removed her hand from the panel, causing Nitocris to perk up. "There's still some charge left in it – for a few more questions at least."

Holmes, as if what Medb said were some kind of sign to the world's most famous detective, took a step forward, and was instantly beside Medb.

She stepped back from the central panel and didn't dignify Holmes with a glance, as if she and Holmes were really communicating on some level of mental connection. Or, maybe they were both acting as they were without any actual consideration, acting according to some predetermined algorithm that perfectly matched each other.

Nitocris couldn't really wrap her mind about what the two very smart people were thinking about and how to gauge their actions.

On some level, Nitocris was envious of this kind of observation. Watching Holmes and Medb was like watching a rehearsed production, each actor in his place, each act acted out in sync, and yet Medb and Holmes didn't know each other until an hour or two ago… 'Maybe they really are communicating through telepathy?'

"Etiquette," Medb, however, having made her way to a stop just outside Nitocris, uttered a single word.

Nitocris, blinking momentarily with incomprehension to the random word Medb just spouted, shifted her gaze to Medb, causing her to roll her eyes slightly, a nonverbal sign that only made Nitocris cringe more than before. She just failed to notice something obvious again. "That form of telepathy you're trying to imagine exists – and it's called 'etiquette'."

Nitocris, unable to find the strength to raise her gaze, only embarrassed herself once more, allowing her shoulders to slump slightly. She has no idea what Medb was talking about.

After a moment, Nitocris heard a slightly disappointed sigh before Medb elaborated her point further. "Etiquette is a set of rules of conduct in society, deemed acceptable and appropriate for a particular situation. In some sense, it really can be considered as a form of silent communication – telepathy even. Thoughts expressed not in direct transmission to the mind, but in expression of thoughts through determination of a suitable form of behavior, which forms the rules of behavior no less than these rules form the actions themselves. In other words – between me and Holmes, there is no need for an exchange of thoughts because each of us is capable of conveying a thought to the other through our actions. If you require an example, imagine the situation during… Hmm, it's probably best to use a potential acquaintance as an example in this case."

Nitocris, completely confused, looked up at Medb, whose cold detachment was mixed with a kind of pity in her eyes that made Nitocris feel even worse. "When you first meet someone in front of you, how do you present yourself? As Nitocris, Pharaoh of the lands of Egypt, the godlike queen of the Nile? As Nitocris, the first herald of the will of the King of Kings, Ozymandias the Great? Perhaps even Nitocris, Servant of the Class of Caster? Or like Nitocris, the girl who loves flowers and turquoise jewelry, moonlit walks and satirical limericks about those in power?"

Medb paused as if to drive her point home in Nitocris' head, seeing Nitocris' confused look, Medb sighed to herself before continuing on.

"Each of these identities, you introduce yourself as, sets the initial tone of the conversation. It would set the framework for your interactions, serving as a non-verbal signal that describes many things about how the situation would go, setting the direction of the conversation long before it gets to the specifics of the encounter. In other words, a single phrase can convey multiple meanings, permitting dialogue on several levels, creating not only a beautiful poetic composition, but a faster and more efficient exchange of information. Yet, at the same time, serving as a kind of cipher for the prying eyes of observers. Each introduction cuts off some possible ways of dialogue, at the same time opening new ones, the sentences said on one level become intents and are built into phrases on another, so that the dialogue continues to run parallel to each other. A person who knows the proper etiquette is able to have a conversation in several languages at once, without speaking any at the same time. And like any language it requires learning and understanding, but at some time it would become natural to a human or even a Servant's way of thinking."

Medb finished explaining before shifting her gaze after a moment, forcing Nitocris to look at Holmes' back as well.

"Holmes knows this language, and so we can communicate in it – there is no need to exchange the words telepathically, if we can just speak with gestures. There is no need to translate our thoughts into words, if we can communicate without them, gathering many meanings in one movement. What may seem to you a strange agreement is really nothing more than the result of communicating in a language unknown to you, actions that have determined our position in relation to each other – etiquette. If we were communicating in the presence of a child, neither would he be able to determine that the sounds unknown to him carry a symbolic descriptive meaning, conveying information and bringing our intentions into unified agreement. Etiquette is a language, and you, as you do not forget to remind yourself or your surroundings, are an 'inexperienced pharaoh', in other words, a child. You're not yet able to perceive that there is another language besides the one you know, one that looks strange and wild to you, but which still exists, conveying thoughts and concepts between the two participants. However, like a child thoughtlessly dreaming of 'adulthood' like a status, you, as an 'inexperienced pharaoh', try to invent the possibility of becoming an 'experienced' pharaoh through a certain set of knowledge, skills, or actions. Perhaps to demonstrate your 'experience' through a set of certain actions like 'helping' Ozymandias, thinking that accomplishing this will be the basis for some kind of recognition of you as a 'real' pharaoh. And no, no such action would lead you into achieving that state."

Medb smiled slightly as she delivered a long-winded critic of Nitocris' character, expounding on her insecurities and dismay. Her smile got even wider as she looked into the eyes of Nitocris, who was frozen, not knowing exactly what she was experiencing at the moment. Should she be mad of the measured explanation from Medb, as if she were, in addition to explaining to Nitocris' what she meant by etiquette, an examination of Nitocris' personality and self?

Like a judge, or maybe a psychologist, Medb had conducted an examination of Nitocris in order to create a unified psychological portrait of her and to evaluate what she is. If only she could not crush her ego as well in the process, Nitocris would really prefer it. "A set of certain actions, like 'walking on your heels' will not make you an overnight adult, nor will helping me or him in his affairs make you 'worthy of serving Ozymandias'. Growing up takes decades, during which specific attributes, whether 'knowing how to tie a tie' or 'knowing how to lead an army', are not as important as the change in personality itself and the commonality of stages passed. Stages that can be hurried, but cannot be skipped."

Confused completely by her thoughts, Nitocris lowered her gaze before realizing that she was behaving exactly like a child, lowering her gaze to the adult who was telling her off, so she raised her gaze defiantly… Only to face Medb, who only shook her head slightly, making Nitocris realize that this behavior already reminded her of a child trying to show her childlike 'disagreement' to an adult telling her off, and she froze once again.

"That's what I'm talking about." Medb sighed, shaking her head before suddenly reaching out and placing her hand on top of Nitocris's head, causing her to reflexively spread her bunny ears to the sides of her head. Nitocris belatedly realized then that Medb had to tiptoe to do so. "I guess I do understand Ozymandias' actions now…"

Nitocris, hearing a name she was interested in, sharply perked up, rising from her half-stupor, shaking off Medb's hand in the process. Seeing the perked-up Nitocris, Medb once again shook her head, once again ignoring Nitocris and not finishing her long, deep explanation, returning her attention to Holmes. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Definitely," Holmes's voice finally snapped Nitocris out of the silent contemplation that had attacked her.

"Will you come with us or go on your own way?" Medb inquired as she took a step towards the exit of the room.

"Away, I suppose," Holmes answered quietly, then stood still, listening intently to something only he could hear. "A little faster than I expected."

Nitocris did not have time to ask a question, before her ears caught the quick steps of many feet, mixing with each other approaching their location, before she looked up at Holmes.

"Atlas allows anyone to enter its mansions – but not to leave." Nitocris heard Medb say, explaining their situation.

With a relaxed gesture, Medb began leaning on her back, so much so that she would have fallen if not for the throne that appeared out of nowhere beneath her back, as if it were an illusion.

After another moment, the footsteps approaching the room were suddenly silenced, as if whatever was approaching the main supercomputer had frozen at a half-step… Or were unable to take the next step.

"Fascinating", Holmes's voice, cut through the silence a moment later. "It's really fascinating – that's hard to find in this world."

"Not so hard for those who know more than others." Medb shifted her gaze to Holmes after a moment, then rose from her throne in one cohesive motion, letting the throne, which had appeared for a moment, disappear as easily as it had appeared, without a sound or a glance.

"Let's go," Medb glanced at Nitocris, then, unexpectedly for Nitocris herself, she smiled slightly, with one corner of her lips, the way she sometimes saw Ozymandias smile when he looked at her, without any love or tenderness. Perhaps only fatherly – or maybe a teacher's love for a student, no perhaps even more than that… "If you cannot speak my language, I must speak yours."

Leaving these words hanging in the air, Medb moved forward, causing Nitocris, who had paused for a moment in her attempt to comprehend what she had just said, to regain consciousness and walk after her.

And in all these discussions of philosophy and etiquette, Sita could only sigh as she was quickly forgotten, a bystander almost in the trio's conversation.

---

Semiramis tried to comprehend exactly when her life took a wrong turn.

Called into the Singularity by the influence of the Grail in a historical period that was foreign to her, in a world that was not just on the brink of apocalyptic catastrophe, but was already in the middle of it. Maybe it started then? Semiramis should have realized, should have understood that her life, which had seemed like some kind of blessing, had already gone down the drain?

But no, Semiramis, no less foolishly, had chosen to ignore such information the world itself had conveyed to her. Instead, she had rejoiced at the opportunity to find herself in this world, in the territory that had once belonged to her native Assyria – and, most fortunately, in the very place where the Hanging Gardens had once existed.

She should have known that something like that was too good to be true.

It made quite the ironic sense to have her Gardens so easily summoned, when Semiramis was not connected to the Hanging Gardens' existence at all. Even tracing the reason why her legend was connected to it in the first place was difficult! Semiramis did not even live at the time of their existence!

But for Servants, creatures of legend, mistakes sometimes meant as much as achievements.

And so, in a strange whim of fate, Semiramis found herself in her native, now-dying Assyria. The only place in the world where her Hanging Gardens could gain their full power and where there would be no problem with the resources needed to create them.

Taking control of the states that had begun to crumble under the weight of the impending apocalypse was even too easy! Just as organizing the creation of a monument to human error and legend that Semiramis had nothing to do with – the created Gardens revealed Semiramis' power to this world, holding on their shoulders the falling sky of a dying reality.

The only concern for Semiramis was one small and not so old fortress when compared to her own legend - Alamut, the fortress of the legendary sect of assassins. The one place where the hand of her rule could not reach.

The only time Semiramis tried to take control of the land she was rightfully entitled to, she… well, ahem… Um… How could she diplomatically put it… Tactically retreated, somewhat before the moment of full-fledged battle even.

That is, Semiramis used her powers to announce her intention… Before the Commandant of Alamut forced her to retreat, showing her his… How could it be called – a thought-form? Intent? A presence?

I mean, no, Semiramis didn't run away at all because she was frightened by the gaze cast upon her by the only inhabitant of this fortress, absolutely not, of course not.

She simply decided, ahem, to attend to other important government business at the moment, not related to the old fortress of Alamut at all, home to Death, which even the legendary Queen of Assyria herself would rather not go near.

And from that moment, Semiramis could not forget the presence of the Old Man of the Mountain, who only silently continued his service in Alamut. Who continued to not pay any attention to the deeds of the Servants in this world, waiting for the moment when he leaves his demesne with bated breath.

And it seemed to her that this had happened – and her heart almost stopped beating from that realization alone. At a certain point, Semiramis suddenly felt her realm invaded by an unknown, hidden from her view, but she could feel that it was something wrong, something dark in this world.

And Semiramis, even if she had been frightened before, was not going to simply accept her death, readying to fight – even if she realized, on some level, the futility of her attempts.

But not every defeat comes simply because someone gives up their battle, and not every defeat ends in death – and Semiramis had lost… Which, however, did not end with Semiramis herself dying with dignity. Instead of a moment of pain, the magus, nay, monster, who defeated her dropped her from her throne, in the truest sense of the word, before, sitting in her throne relegating Semiramis from her position as queen to…

Semiramis wasn't even sure – the driver? Who could even afford to have Semiramis as their driver?!

Semiramis shifted her gaze to the magus, who had never introduced himself all this time, before she reflected on how she got to this point.

Dropping the rules of decorum and her role as queen, rules that her new unnamed acquaintance didn't care about at all and had no intention of playing her games, she rubbed her forehead with her hand. Bereft of any means of injuring her new 'guest', she could only stare thoughtfully at him.

The unknown man, distracted for a moment from studying the Hanging Gardens with a look as if he had seen such legendary wonders many times in the past, if not previously ruled them at all, raised his gaze to Semiramis. "Yes, is something wrong?"

"You never introduced yourself to me." Semiramis thought for a moment about trying to regain some of her lost power and dignity, perhaps demanding his name, before giving up and waving it away.

"Ainz," The magus said instantly, a name that evoked no memory or association in Semiramis' mind. Of course, the man, Ainz, could have lied, or his name could have even been forgotten – or never known at all, so such a thing would not tell of Ainz' weakness, giving him no reason to lie.

Still, at least Semiramis could appreciate the symbolic gesture of revealing his personal name, which stored in itself the strength and weakness of the Servants. Not that it helped her in any way, shape, or form.

This, of course, did not atone for his actions towards Semiramis. She herself did not think she would ever forget such an encounter with Ainz, but in the current situation at least Semiramis understood what she had to do and the situation she found herself in.

Besides, Ainz was apparently planning to face the Old Man of the Mountain, and whoever won in the end would at least be weakened, which would give Semiramis the opportunity to strike her own blow.

I mean, what else could one expect from the world's oldest legendary poisoner, summoned with the abilities of the Assassin class?

Well, until then, Semiramis could at least relax for a moment. Of course, she enjoyed ruling her soaring fortress, but sitting on her throne, she was unable to even move from it unless urgent matters of state demanded it. Now, after descending from her throne, at least for the first time in a long time, Semiramis could afford to walk through the empty passages and peer over the railing, looking at the kingdom spread out beneath her gaze. Her kingdom…

"Huh, amazingly, even my defeat has some small positive features…" Semiramis let a slight, twisted smirk appear on her face, no longer maintaining her eternal dignified mask of a queen.

"Not that it could save him from my revenge, should I get the opportunity for that – but at least I have to say that he gave me a reason to get out of my throne and look at my Assyria… Maybe if he hadn't stolen my Hanging Gardens and just defeated me, I wouldn't even be too mad at him after such an opportunity, and if he hadn't assaulted my persons, of course. "

Semiramis sighed, then shifted her gaze to the mountains approaching slowly in the distance and the lone fortress on it before shaking her head and glancing at Ainz.

"Well, the Old Man of the Mountain vs. Ainz… Let us see which of them will prove to stand victorious in the end. And who would gain the pleasure of tasting my poisons."

Ainz had to hold himself back from commenting on the fact that he could hear her planning her revenge and that she should get a hidden alcove or something to do that – not five steps from where he's sitting.

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 126: Inside the Singularity

Scáthach watched her new acquaintance, Jacques, and Medusa with some wariness. The two newly acquainted Servants suddenly, seemingly instantly, found common grounds between each other, something that pegged her paranoia levels about the Undead involvement. At least it was somewhat buffered by being in the relatively familiar surroundings, allowing her to somewhat relax.

Well, somewhat.

It was incorrect to say that she was in a familiar environment – neither the crusaders, the cities, nor even the presence of people around her was familiar. But when comparing the current situation to the previous one, that is with enemies and allies that she was unsure of. Namely, the presence of Ainz behind her back and the undead monsters, who were also not her opponents, or maybe they were, Scáthach herself was no longer particularly sure of that. The current situation was at least clearer to Scáthach than before.

That was why Scáthach felt a little more relaxed – which, however, had no effect on her readiness for battle. Scáthach had long ago reached the point where she no longer needed to be tense for battle, her fighting abilities and skills existed separately and independently of her emotions or thinking. So, at any time, as soon as Jacques showed any ill-intent, Scáthach could deal with both her and the people around her in a moment.

As long as it wasn't required, Scáthach could devote her time to observing the Crusaders trying to go about their chores amidst the apocalypse.

With some surprise, she noticed among the warriors of Christ glimpses of people with non-European figures.

She paused for a few moments, seeing the figure of a tired middle-aged man with a distinctive red cross on a white cloak over his other clothes, helping a man with a striking Arab appearance to pull his bumpy wagon.

'For obvious reasons, I cannot vouch for the completeness and accuracy of my knowledge of this time period and the relationship between the Crusaders and the people of these places. But I must say, I imagined the situation to be considerably less idyllic than such.'

Of course, there have been examples in history of the peaceful coexistence between different religious denominations, different nationalities, even between the conquerors and conquered. In addition, given the situation of the coming apocalypse, previous disagreements between different peoples might now seem to be nothing more than echoes of bygone days.

But they might also have been the catalyst for even more violent persecution or escalation of hatred.

From fighting for the rest of the resources, to mutual accusations that those different from themselves had been the original cause of the catastrophe.

Even given the overwhelming power of the Servants compared to ordinary humans, it was hard enough to keep people from choosing the second option – simply because that was the nature of humanity.

Therefore, watching such an idyllic scene, Scáthach found it a bit strange. Or was the problem being that she saw the bad in people, and didn't see the good?

Scáthach watched the people's actions for a few more seconds before she heard Jacques' voice unexpectedly. "Is something wrong?"

Scáthach, with all her incredible ability in combat and her stealth, couldn't hide her social ineptitude even if she has Presence Concealment. So, needless to say, her attempt to furtively watch the goings-on of the humans failed miserably, which made Scáthach inwardly swear. "Nothing, just… surprised at how the Crusaders seem to be getting along with the locals."

"Is there any reason to be surprised?" Jacques, who had left Medusa unchecked and unsupervised, as if she had complete confidence in her, had made her way to Scáthach. Which had made her stumble into watching the badly hidden Scáthach and her interest.

"They believe in the same god, though they came to it in different ways – petty differences mean nothing anymore. After all, they have a common enemy who has taken a city sacred to both of them, and the situation is too dangerous for them to afford to waste their energies on killing their own kind. Either they will all be saved, or no one will be saved – pragmatism and idealism working together for the first time in thousands of years of human existence. Of course what happens after is… Well, we'll cross that bridge later."

"Maybe if you look at it that way… There's nothing unusual about what's going on," Scáthach shook her head slightly. Social psychology was not a part of the skills that Scáthach had developed after hundreds of years of battles with monsters. In fact, it might be the exact opposite, not that she was a social creature even before she went to the Island of Skye.

"But aren't humans impractical creatures? We cannot simply expect them to always do what is best – even if that alternative is to their own deaths. Humans are hardly creatures of logic at the best of times."

"It's hard to argue with that assessment." Jacques replied, moving her gaze a little further away, looking not at the people but somewhere in the distance, over the horizon, lost in her thoughts. The next time she spoke, it was as if she was into the void rather than addressing Scáthach. "Even now, Semiramis, Ozymandias and the sect of Assassins persist in their own beliefs…"

Scáthach was humming in thought at such a cliché development – in the face of end times, people would rather still fight for scraps rather than try to solve the crisis. That is, until a peculiar mention caught her attention. "The Assassin sect? I don't doubt that the likes of Semiramis and Ozymandias would have found a hundred reasons not to work together – but why would the Assassin sect refuse to work with you?"

"Religious differences…" Jacques answered simply, then turned her gaze to another Arab-looking merchant, trying to sell his small belongings to an attentive, non-Arab-looking customer.

Scáthach did not respond to these words. After all, the Assassin sect was primarily a religious organization, so to assume that its members, or most likely their leaders, were fanatical enough to refuse to cooperate with the Crusaders was not a surprise. The Crusaders, after all, were their main ideological opponents.

To accept a change in their religious dogmas… It was hard to imagine.

Still, the short meeting Scáthach had with the Administrator did make her think for a moment that he was able to cooperate regardless of religious differences, at least to save his people.

"It's strange, but I suppose it's not for me to judge the vicissitudes of people's religious beliefs,"

Scáthach could only shake her head slightly in the end, as if amazed at how amazing people were, able to create their own problems even when they shouldn't have existed at all. "Though, I thought that worshipers of the sects of Abrahamic religion would have fewer difficulties than this. At least on that front and in those conditions…"

"Abrahamic…?" Jacques' gaze was unfocused for a moment, as if trying to remember exactly what Scáthach was talking about, before turning to Scáthach with a surprisingly interested look, then slowly nodding, smiling slightly. "Yes, of course, that's exactly what we worship…"

---

Arthuria continued to silently stare into the distance, at the figure of Camelot in the distance, the city flickering with the unearthly light of the fairies and the wonderful castle at the center.

Arthuria seldom got lost in her own thoughts, closing herself off to outside stimuli. More accurately, outside observers could tell that Arthuria was always closed off, and therefore it could not be unequivocally said that she 'withdrew' into herself if she spent almost all her time in that state. Arthuria had always been seen as a figure that silently pondered her own thoughts, which she did not share with the outside world.

However, that did not mean that she was distracted in any way – Arthuria had always spent her silence in complete awareness of her surroundings. So to see her so lost in her thoughts was a rarity.

In the end, Arthuria simply did not experience any doubt in herself – self-assured in all her actions. It's not that Arthuria was a 'simple' person, seldom thinking deeply, she simply lacks doubt. Arthuria was a person of entrenched convictions and long-held decisions. She had her beliefs, her plans, her personality – she did what she did and did not subject situations to lengthy analysis. She followed orders, and if there was no order, she acted as she usually did – tacitly, coldly, and aloof.

Whether it was in combat, Singularities, or her relationship with Mordred – all her possible thoughts had long since been considered, decisions made, and conclusions fully drawn.

So it could be said that Arthuria was seldom engaged precisely in pondering any thoughts, old or new.

And that was why it was so unusual for her to do just that, as she looked at her Camelot from afar. Seeing the familiar castle she knew was now not her own home, her native fortress, but the bastion of the enemy. Another of hers, ruling over knights with the names of her friends whom she knew so intimately, and seemed not to know at all.

Arthuria had not thought about it before, even knowing, thanks to the Throne of Heroes, that she was not the only Arthuria recorded in the Throne – and strictly speaking, was not even the 'right' version of the legendary King Arthur. She had not considered until now when she would face another Arthuria.

Maybe as an ally, or maybe even as an enemy… She had known about it intellectually, but it seems encountering it for real was another matter entirely. Still, Arthuria could not let herself ponder it too long, she would do as she always did.

Kill the other Arthuria, as the other Arthuria would also try her best to kill her herself.

What about her knights, her… Arthuria could even use such a strong word – friends? Those with whom had stood beside her in her tribulation and through hundreds of battles? Could she face Tristan, Galahad, Percival – in battle and kill them?

Yes, she would kill them – just as they would kill her, if given the chance. They are knights after all, obeying their King is their highest duty – and sentiments were to be put aside.

Her Camelot, her ancestral home? She is capable of pointing out every weakness in the castle, of knowing where best to lead troops and where to strike it down.

Nor would the other Arthuria be a problem, she was ready – as cold and detached as ever, having determined in advance every step she would take in their battle to best kill her other self.

At least, Arthuria always thought that she would be ready for this moment. That she would fight as she always had, kill as she always had, and if need be, sacrifice herself if necessary.

But why, if she had made her decision long ago, decided to ignore the weaknesses of her past self, to be that King Arthur who would remain in people's memory as the Black Tyrant – why, then, did she continue to gaze at Camelot in the distance? With what feelings was she looking at it? Arthuria didn't know that – and it annoyed her a little.

"My King?" Bedivere's voice distracted Arthuria from her thoughts, but she did not turn her head in his direction. Perhaps for practical reasons, wanting to continue watching Camelot for fear of an attack at any moment – perhaps for some other reason.

Arthuria continued to watch Camelot in silence, hearing Bedivere approaching her, and allowing him to come closer – just in reach of her blade. Unforgivably foolish, if Arthuria was planning to hurt him, and Arthuria could have been planning such a thing, there was every reason not to trust Bedivere in the current situation.

Of course, Bedivere's position also meant that his blade could also reach Arthuria. And yet, Arthuria did not pull away a little further, allowing Bedivere to move closer. Arthuria could feel her hand itching, that she should unsheathe her blade, that Bedivere should not be trusted – and yet she did nothing but stare ahead. "My King?"

Arthuria waited a few moments before she slowly, almost reluctantly, started speaking. "I never thought I'd see Camelot again…"

"That is not our Camelot, my King." Bedivere conveyed to her a perfectly simple and ordinary thought that Arthuria had also understood. Something, which, logically, could in no way provoke any emotional response in Arthuria's soul.

And yet such words echoed a strange feeling inside Arthuria – it was an unpleasant feeling. Why? Arthuria herself could not make the reason out, and from the fact that Arthuria did not understand the reason why she was experiencing it – it was even more unpleasant for her.

"Arthuria ruled over Camelot, not me." Arthuria finally spoke a little more harshly than usual, though it barely showed in her tone, facial expression, or the words she spoke. "Not in my current incarnation…"

"Absolutely, my King." Bedivere bowed momentarily, making Arthuria feel another strange sensation. Arthuria had never seen Bedivere bow before this moment – and yet there was some excruciatingly familiar feeling inside her mind that Arthuria could not comprehend.

Arthuria turned sharply before heading away, unsure exactly where she was going at that moment. Was she moving toward something?

Or was she trying to move away from something?

---

Medb moved silently through the sand dunes of the desert, feeling her throne swaying gently as it passed the dunes.

She could have ordered her throne moved on the shoulders of her servants with such uniformity that a ball placed on the armrest of her throne would not have moved from its place. But she had found that she enjoyed the gentle swaying, adding a sort of light note of 'travel' as they moved.

Then again, it's not like her 'servants' were actual living beings.

They were unintelligent, not even alive, but purely dense illusions, directly subject to her will and her mind, existing only as long as Medb herself needed them. Unlike her other retinue.

On one side is Sita – quiet, docile, and would perform her duties when she was supposed to, all the while not drawing attention to herself when she was not supposed to. In other words, an almost perfect subordinate for Medb, at least in terms of her behavior and personality, if not in terms of her usefulness.

Nitocris, on the other hand…

Medb could even admit, at least to herself, that she liked Nitocris in a way.

Not to the level where she would seriously consider her emotional or physical comfort, unless the situation called for it, of course. But it was a level enough to, in perhaps a whim, satisfy her thirst for new knowledge a little by pointing out errors in her thinking.

And this was an act borne of her own desire, without considering her previous agreement with Ozymandias. In other words, Medb could understand why exactly Ozymandias cared so much for this Servant, and why he had agreed to make such a seemingly disadvantageous arrangement on his part.

After all, with two rulers communicating clearly defined positions toward each other and perfectly capable of communicating within the necessary etiquette, neither of them would insult, first and foremost, themselves by stooping to petty intrigue behind each other's backs. The base act of bargaining out extra gold from an unlucky merchant, surviving solely by deception and escape from his angry visitors, beneath the two rulers. No, the respect of the two rulers was built on their openness when they needed to be open, and intrigue of a magnitude and tone that would suit rulers of their level.

In this case, however, the arrangement between Medb and Ozymandias was simple enough. In exchange for important information and a few necessary concessions, as well as forgiveness for her previous actions, Medb was obligated to take care of Nitocris. Whatever way 'taking care' would entail.

Not as a babysitter – Ozymandias would have burned with shame if he had wished his own Servant to be protected and cared for, not to mention what an insult that would have been to Nitocris herself. But simply as a guide as Nitocris traveled, in order to allow Nitocris to experience a little of what life in the ruler's court really was like.

In other words, Medb was obliged, at the very least, to prevent unduly sad consequences for Nitocris herself, but she was not obliged to feel sympathy for her. And yet she did.

It was somewhat amusing, unlike Ozymandias, who looked upon Nitocris not only as his younger counterpart, but as the child he might once have been – Medb was created inherently as she is. She is the perfect ruler and perfect queen of her court, created by Skadi at her will.

In other words, she was fundamentally incapable of experiencing the same feelings that Ozymandias felt when looking at Nitocris, just as the blind could not see and the deaf could not hear. And yet, strangely, looking at Nitocris, Medb felt at least some amusement and a new sense of sympathy. She shouldn't, but she does – an amusing fact, at least to Medb herself.

A finding that she had no intention of sharing with Nitocris, of course. Some things, once said out loud, made no sense at all.

So Medb didn't devote any more time paying attention to the moping Nitocris, instead concentrating on her future plans, looking at the path ahead of her.

"I wonder if Ainz had already met his counterpart from this world." How Ainz reacted to such a thing, or how the Old Man of the Mountain would react to Ainz – Medb didn't even bother to think about it, the ending would be the same. Even though he was strong for this world, the Old Man of the Mountain was still a creature bound by the logic of his own world, and so was limited in how important he was in the big picture.

In the greater picture, he was nothing against Ainz.

A moment later, Sita raised her hand, drawing attention to herself, causing Medb to stop before turning her gaze to see what had gained Sita's attention.

"A detachment of people is approaching, from the north, along with a mighty Servant in pursuit of… An extremely weak Servant?" Sita said after a moment's scrutiny, looking somewhere far beyond the horizon, forcing Medb to ask for more detail. "Their composition? Whose side is being chased?"

"One of the Assassins is running away, as far as I can tell…" Sita was silent for a moment, as if trying to see figures from a distance that Medb herself could not see. "And chasing after her… I assume they are knights – they looked the part at least."

Medb wondered for a moment at the strange report – could the knights be crusader knights? Not that it was impossible, given what Ozymandias had said – but more likely the knights were part of the Lion Goddess' armies. They were the only ones who were wasting time at the moment, searching for and destroying the Assassins. Considering the Assassins' strategy of buying time by diversely sabotaging all fronts, worked at least enough to buy time for the dying sect at the cost of their own blood, once they became the hunted.

They would also do their duties with grim acceptance, buying some time to prepare for the final clash with the Lion Goddess.

Alas, desperate times called for desperate measures – including sacrificing the weak to buy time to prepare the forces of the strong.

Medb thought about what they should do for a moment – should she interfere with what was happening at the moment? Medb could defeat the Servant pursuing Assassin, quite easily in fact. But, barring even her dislike of physical violence, doing such a thing would set off a chain of events that would have triggered the final battle – perhaps sooner than Ainz wished.

Furthermore, in return of gaining some disadvantage, Medb herself would gain nothing more than the worthless gratitude and trust of the Assassin sect, worth no more at the moment than their words expressing it.

By not doing so, however, Medb would have lost nothing more than the insignificant time she would have spent bypassing the enemy squad… In other words, the decision was easily made.

"Leave them – we should go around the enemy." Medb gave the order before she caught Sita's gaze and realized instantly that it conveyed no pleasant information to her. "I take it that they are approaching us?"

As Medb had expected, Sita only nodded slightly at the question, causing Medb to sigh somewhat sadly at the way the current situation had taken a turn that Medb didn't approve of.

Medb dislikes having no control of the situation.

Medb wondered for a moment if it made sense to try to make verbal contact with her potential adversary. After all, there was a chance that the Lion Goddess' knight would actually back down without starting a battle with Medb if she did not provoke the battle herself – especially given Nitocris' presence as a symbol of Ozymandias diplomatic patronage. The Lion Goddess did not appear to be ready to start a battle with Ozymandias yet, distracted by the weak but still interfering Assassins.

Alas, that would unlikely come to pass – as in such a case, the unknown Assassin would surely try to take advantage of Medb's presence and position to save themselves. And given the fact that it was unlikely that the Assassin was a sophisticated diplomat involved in the subtleties of diplomatic incidents – perhaps the only difference Medb could make was in which position she would start the battle in.

Medb allowed herself a moment of distraction, wondering. 'What would Ainz do in my place?'

As a person not built for combat, though very capable of it, Medb preferred not to make mistakes she easily could have avoided, preferring instead to take advantage of the information gathered before by far more trained and experienced people. And so, after a moment, Medb nodded, turning to Sita. "Sita, shoot them with your Noble Phantasm."

---

Ainz stared at the fortress, appearing in the distance thoughtfully, as the slowly hovering palace approached the desired destination.

The fortress he saw wasn't anything outstanding. It's not that Ainz had seen many ancient castles, excluding in YGGDRASIL, of course – but the fortress, whose name had slipped his mind, didn't impress him with its appearance.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was currently in a flying fortress, and that's why he didn't feel any impressiveness from the other fortress. Of course, it's very possible that the lack of grandiosity hid a deadly trap. Not that Ainz had the current presence of mind to care.

What Ainz did care about, though, was the approaching encounter with the unknown – someone Medb described as his 'copy' of this world.

Ainz had already taken an internal inventory of his image – of how Medb had most likely remembered him from YGGDRASIL. And, if the creature of this world was even slightly similar to how Ainz had played his character in YGGDRASIL, in those rare moments, of course, when he had played a character at all. If so, he wanted not to meet this Servant, but to run away from him.

No, of course, the soaring fortress and his own abilities gave him some confidence, but even being confident in his power, he just didn't want to meet a Servant like that, which he could theoretically resemble.

'I don't know, maybe I should just turn around and leave? Tell Medb that I had met this Servant – she didn't say anything about killing him, did she? So I can just say I met with him – and then if we happen to meet in the future, just say that this Servant is pretending like we haven't met before?' Ainz felt the grip of nervousness for a moment before his suppression of emotion forced him to calm down.

'No, that's just stupid. I think I should prepare for a fight, just in case, and then at least try to have a dialogue with him afterwards or if I'm lucky before even. He's not going to throw himself at me as soon as he sees me, is he?'

Ainz could feel his shoulders drooped for a moment, before steeling himself, wanting to rip the band-aid as soon as possible, after casting all possible buffs of course. "Okay, the equipment is in place now, specs to the max… Okay, it can't get any worse – Gate!"

A moment later, a black portal appeared in front of him and as he took a step, he found himself in front of the fortress gate. Ainz didn't exactly know how he should start the conversation and meeting with the unknown Servant, but knows that he probably should have at least knocked on the unknown's door rather than teleporting directly into his castle.

So when he appeared in front of the castle, Ainz looked around, and then, not having thought of anything better, raised his hand to knock on the door.

"I've been waiting for you," A voice that came simultaneously from nowhere and everywhere, made Ainz freeze. "Those who saw me, saw Death… But you won't be any more dead than you are now."

'Um, thank you?' Ainz wasn't sure if that was a strange compliment or not, so he remained silent on the words of the speaker, then tensed inwardly as he saw the way the gate opened before him. Ainz was about to take a step inside, before realizing that beyond the passage he doesn't see the expected light filled courtyard, only black impenetrable darkness.

'Amazing, I saw the trap and still walked into it!' Ainz almost rolled his eyes at his own mistake. Of course, his current form was protected against forced teleportation, but if he agreed to move himself – for example, by taking a step into the teleportation circle – his protection was useless. 'At least this place doesn't seem to block teleportation – I can get out of here anytime if anything happens.'

"I am Death." A moment later, Ainz realized that he was not alone in the dark place with invisible walls – before realizing another important piece of information. 'What, an undead?!'

Confused, Ainz turned towards the skeletal figure, answering a little awkwardly. "Hello, Death, I'm Ainz."

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 127: Very important talk

Ainz turned slowly toward the source of the voice. There in the dark, an undead dressed in an ornate armor loomed. While he was able to sense his presence with his passive skills, it still doesn't mean that his sudden appearance didn't make Ainz's nonexistent heart skip a beat. Well, judging by his presence here and how he looked, this must be the Old Man of the Mountain both Medb and Semiramis were talking about. Looking closely at the creature, Ainz could understand where the comparison and case of mistaken identity had come from.

'Well, at least I can see parallels between him and myself in appearance… But only that – I still don't see anything else that would make Medb compare the two of us. If he starts speaking German, I'm going to flip!'

The speaker, who introduced himself as Death, looked like Ainz if he had been a Physical Attack build… Ainz had to admit that the armor he's wearing looked really cool.

Momonga's vision, thanks to his ability, had no trouble seeing in the dark, allowing him to make out the figure of the Servant. The man wore armor that seems to be made from melded black pieces of metal with blue-purple streaks, with spikes jutting out that accentuates the armor even when hidden behind the ragged black cloak. Furthermore, the man's physique, which was not particularly inferior to Hercules and Ainz, was less intimidating than the half-skull missing a lower jaw that is his head adorned with two horns that jutted upwards.

And in that skull, blazed two blue flares of fire, contrasting Ainz's red ones.

A note of interest however was the weapon the Old man of the Mountain wields. It is a massive guardless blade, though perhaps it was too massive to be called a mere sword. With its chips and chipped edge, it looked more like a blunt saw – massive, thick, heavy and far too rough to be called a sword. It was more a hunk of iron.

Ainz wondered if that was by design, or if the Old Man of the Mountain, being seemingly alone in this fortress, lacked the proper smith to repair his weapons.

The shield he wields off-hand made much more sense in Ainz's mind, though no less confusing. It was a huge shield, large enough even to cover most of the Assassin's massive body. What was confusing however were the decorations on the shield. In front, right, and center was a huge skull embossment with one glowing blue eye – and on top, is another set of spikes.

It was very eye-catching – which is supposed to be anathema to an Assassin!

'An Assassin is supposed to be the master of hit-and-run tactics, remaining mostly in stealth until the best chance to strike their enemies. What kind of Assassin wields a huge sword and a tower shield!?'

Is this supposed to be the 'legendary assassin' that Semiramis seemed to be very afraid of?

Is he some kind of subspecies of an Assassin? Maybe more like a stealth warrior or even an 'invisible tank'? There are some bosses or mobs with that kind of unique build in the past – but never actually from other Players – the limitation of Level Caps preventing them from being an effective build.

A limit that the Developers lack – they prefer less the 'effectiveness' school of thinking in their MOB creation, preferring to make very 'impressive' builds instead. As in, something that would kill the Players in very 'impressive' manners.

Ainz still remembered the 'gray mouse' debacle, when the Developers decided to 'give' a usually level 1 MOB, the stats, and skills of a level 100 Raid Boss, and with Virtual Intelligence to boot. Intelligence that allowed it to adapt to the Players' tactics, making it exponentially harder to kill.

There were many salts and blood spewed by the Players when the reward for killing it was the paltry rewards that a level 1 Mob would give, the cherry to the shit cake.

But, while Ainz was content to be immersed in his own thoughts, not even paying much attention to an enemy that didn't seem to intend to attack him. Not that Ainz wasn't ready to start fighting at any second – his red eye dots continued to glow, unmoving, all the while his mind wandered, something that made the direction of his gaze impossible to comprehend. Just as the blue flames in the eyes of the Old Man of the Mountain before him. It might even have seemed, to the casual observer, that the two of them were silently staring at each other. That is before the Old Man spoke first. "Thou stand on thou own border."

Ainz instantly returned from his thoughts back to reality, but did not respond to the undead's words. Primarily because he did not understand what exactly he was talking about at the moment.

"No, I see…" The skeleton continued again, in a low, reverberating voice, reverberating as if from the walls of an empty armory, or perhaps from a mausoleum or an old crypt. "You stepped over the edge, and you reached its end… Before you returned."

Ainz only continued to stare silently at his potential adversary at these words, not knowing how he should have reacted to these words or what they're supposed to mean.

"And what do you want from the sword of the Lord, creature from across the border?" The Servant opposite Ainz moved his blade slowly, clearly showing that he was not afraid of a possible battle. But at the same time, by not pointing it directly at Ainz, he showed that while he was ready for battle – he still wished to do without.

Ainz silently continued to stare at his opponent, deep in thought. 'Yeah, I have no idea what you're talking about… I don't even have a reason to be here at all!'

Ainz waited a few seconds, checking to see if the Servant across from him was coming to some conclusion, before realizing that was the end of it and the Servant wouldn't clarify himself. And well, he did ask a question, and so, Ainz answered with the only thing he could, and something that at least was true. "Nothing. I just wanted to see you in person."

After answering, Ainz thought about it some more for a moment, before he caught another thought by the tail. He did have a reason for visiting this fortress! "And perhaps I would like you to… Not to interfere with my businesses in the battles of this Singularity. I'm not asking you to help me solve the current crisis, but I wouldn't want to fight over a misunderstanding if you attacked my Servants… Or Semiramis, I suppose she's necessary at this point, becoming something of an ally of mine."

"Don't tell Death whose path has come to an end and whose path has not… " The Servant answered instantly, perhaps even somewhat angered by Ainz's words, before letting his voice fade momentarily and, as if coming to some conclusion. "The evening bells ring for those who do not appear at their time, you cannot stop their ringing nor the step of death… But if you wish to stand in its path – I can only grant you a single treaty, for Death will gather its harvest, with you, or against you."

'Ugh, why does he speak in such a chuuni way! Yes, he's exactly my version of this world according to Medb… at least there's no whiff of German yet.' Ainz almost raised his hand to scratch his head before suppressing that impulse by looking at his opponent and trying to parse his words.

'He said something about a treaty, though? That would be nice, I'd be glad if it ended in a regular treaty like sane people have!'

"I'm willing to hear you out." But of course Ainz didn't agree right away, not knowing the terms of the treaty. The last time around he did such a thing, he had agreed to look quickly at the Singularity of this world and was still unable to deal with the consequences of his earlier decision.

"I will withdraw from the territories of the obnoxious queen, and will not take the heads of those who remain standing beside you. Furthermore, I will give you the opportunity to see the face of Death, as it leaves this edge." Slowly, word by word, accentuating each word, the Servant pronounced his offer slowly.

"But I will collect the heads of everyone who remains after you. But, should you stray from your path – I will ring the evening bell for you. And even your existence, that stands beyond the edge, will find no escape from this nameless blade of God. This is my first, last, and only offering. Make your peace with it, or stay and know how great is my devotion to His teachings. You are not omnipotent, o creature from beyond the brink – a true Assassin will find a way even to the Nuclear Chaos. Remember this, Daemonic Sultan and Blind Idiot God."

'Why am I an Idiot God?! Are you trying to provoke me into a fight right now?!' His suppression of emotion stopped the indignation rising in Ainz's soul.

'If not the experience of Scáthach constantly trying to piss me off, that would have almost provoked me – I still don't want you to add to that headache. I might not know your powers, and I haven't faced you in battle, and you beat Semiramis no problem, so I wouldn't want to know what you would think if you decided to combine powers with Scáthach… Umu, okay, maybe having a cooler head is much better here – though is it too much to ask for him to speak plainly!?'

Without showing any of his inner thoughts, Ainz only nodded briefly at the Servant's words before turning away, feeling mildly satisfied that he had so rudely turned away, leaving the negotiations without implicit agreement or denial. Well, the Servant had said that Ainz could leave and nothing about asking for an answer – so it was all his fault!

A moment later, some kind of portal appeared on Ainz's path, the other side of the portal showing the slowly rising morning sun. Clearly, Ainz's actions wasn't something that insulted the Servant, and Ainz exited the dark space without thinking exactly about where he's heading, thinking of what happened lightly. Something that the Assassins said in the end pinged his memories.

'Daemonic Sultan, Nuclear Chaos… I heard those terms somewhere before – but I can't remember where… Ah well, if I can't remember exactly what this Servant is saying, it's not likely to be anything important.'

---

Semiramis watched intently as Ainz disappeared inside the gates of Alamut, keeping her eyes on his figure before shifting her gaze to the human body beside her. "I should have guessed this answer sooner."

Not that using other people's bodies or altering one's own appearance is some rare gift – most gods, many heroes, and just as many monsters possessed similar abilities. It certainly cost Semiramis to discover that the unknown magus possessed similar abilities, and the form he had been in all this time was not his real one. Indeed, in hindsight, Semiramis thought it's obvious – no human could have felt as vile and strange as Ainz had felt in her realm. Sadly, Semiramis only learned the truth too late, when he shed his mask of flesh and his presence became unbearably more powerful.

The sensation of being near Ainz alone made Semiramis heckles raise, forcing her body to relax from the great aura of danger Ainz emitted. Perhaps from knowing that even at her best prepared, she has no chance of countering Ainz. That realization does allow for a moment's thought to appear in her head – was she doing the right thing in going to destroy the survivor of the fight between Ainz and the Old Man from the Mountain?

The Old Man was not human – it was more correct to describe him as a 'being' or even as a force of nature. He's on an entirely different level of power, quite possibly an entirely different cohort of existence than where the usual Servants were, even the strongest ones, something that he knew that Ozymandias was. And he couldn't even compare to the Old Man of the Mountain.

The Assassin was cruel and cold, killing was merely an action for him, something to be done without any doubt or emotion – exactly what one would expect from the legendary Assassin.

The Old Man of the Mountain, the first Assassin, the true Hassan ibn Sabbah. Or rather that was what he was known as, as his name was lost in the sands of time, or erased by his own efforts and actions, until only the name that his disciples called him remained. The first and legendary Assassin is the one who created the very word 'assassin' – the punishing sword of the Lord.

Semiramis had heard many legends about him, but despite the fact that he was, relatively speaking, a very modern spirit, at least from Semiramis' perspective, whose history was rooted in antiquity, no one knew anything meaningful about the First Hassan. Even the Throne of Heroes had not supplied her with information about anything more than the very fact of his existence.

And even that was itself more like a legend than a concrete fact granted to Semiramis when she was summoned.

Semiramis was aware, rationally, somewhere in the back of her mind, that if the First Hassan had decided that it was time for Semiramis to die – she would already be dead.

And yet, the First Hassan was an ally of humanity – if speaking of the big picture, and not the specifics. Something that she couldn't say about Ainz.

Hassan was an ally of humanity, while the unknown Ainz felt to Semiramis solely as a danger, an oddity, an irregularity in this world – and it was impossible for Semiramis to foresee his real plans and next move.

Then shouldn't Semiramis then have set aside her differences with the First Hassan and intervened against Ainz – performing something that could be called her 'duty' to humanity? Not that Semiramis considered herself indebted to humanity, but she still preferred helping if she could prevent the destruction of humanity.

In general, at least – she can't really be a ruler of anything without Humanity around.

Semiramis' doubts did not last long, maybe a few minutes, but in time she did come to the decision to fight on humanity's side. That decision outweighed the alternative by only a fraction of a percent – it's not like she was certain that Ainz would destroy mankind, and she does hate the First Hassan quite a bit.

That is, on the rationale that along with saving humanity, perhaps in the future some semblance of her self have a chance to return to her sovereign land of Assyria, taking the crown again.

But in spite of Semiramis' perhaps selfish reasoning to fight for Humanity, her resolve was quite wasted when she saw no fight happening. On the contrary, instead, Semiramis saw Alamut, Hassan's fortress… dissolve into thin air.

Semiramis blinked, thinking that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Perhaps to spite her even more, the fortress of Alamut continued to scatter like a mirage, its stone walls melting in the wind before her gaze.

Semiramis blinked once more before she heard a familiar voice, one that she perhaps was quite dreading. "You might consider that a success… I suppose."

Turning around, she was not prepared to see the frightening visage of the great evil that it had almost overwhelmed her. It was Ainz, and she was not prepared to be in his full presence, something that should have been grateful that she was not in when he had discarded his false body. Sadly, it seemed that her luck had run out.

The creature, the undead of white polished bones, wrapped in a terrifying robe the color of noble purple and gold that radiated darkness, loomed over her. In whose empty eye sockets the insane fire from the depths of Hell blared, and on whose fingers rested nine rings that flickered like the legendary rings of Solomon – though Semiramis was absolutely certain that even Solomon could not have had the same effect on the surrounding reality with his presence.

Semiramis shifted her gaze to the fortress of Alamut, which had already half melted into the air, then back to Ainz, with a growing dread inside her. 'The First Hassan has already lost?! So quickly!?'

"Oh, hmm, that is unusual, why is the fortress disappearing? But then again, on the other hand, it was probably even a good thing." Ainz shifted his gaze to the melting fortress of Alamut, then shifted his gaze to Semiramis. "Semiramis, you could say that I have settled the matter with the First Hassan, he has agreed to leave the borders of your state… True, he has taken the fortress with him – but this territory is now completely yours."

"Yeah," Semiramis felt her sanity breaking under the boot of harsh reality, realizing her foolishness, that she should have run to the help of the First Hassan no matter the grudge she has. Now, the great evil has free rein with no one standing in his way.

"Thank you."

Not that it would change anything, she would just die.

---

Sita placed an arrow on her bow, whilst covering one eye in order to aim more accurately. The arrow in her hands shifted slightly on the bowstring, allowing Sita, while keeping her hands in check, to aim a little better.

The escaping Servant was a decent enough distance away. An Assassin, most likely, wrapped in their usual black cloak that is currently in disarray, exposing a face uncovered by the usual Assassin mask and her dark, almost black skin and long, pony-tailed hair, blue-purple in color. The figure dressed only in tight black pants and black bandages were leading the knight away, probably from some refugee or other. The girl was running as fast as she could, not to escape, she probably knew that she was on a suicide mission, but to give more time to whatever it is she's saving. To give the chance that others could be saved for another day.

Sita could barely sense the Servant's power, and not because the Assassin was using Presence Concealment or a similar skill, but because she was weak. So weak that determining the very fact that it was a Servant and not another random person was only possible because Servants could identify other Servants with their innate senses, and only because she was running through the desert. Standing in a crowd of people, Sita would have had no way of identifying the Servant as an Assassin.

Perhaps very befitting for an Assassin, Sita could only imagine how stealthy she could be if she would actively use her Presence Concealment.

Behind her, quickly catching up with her, were the horsemen. Three dozen armored knights, clad in armor unsuited to the surrounding desert, whose faces were hidden behind high helmets, moving with a kind of deliberate calm, driving their horses with mechanical swiftness – from each of them Sita sensed magic. Not as much as Servants – excluding the Servants who stood out for weakness rather than strength, but still quite a bit.

Perhaps they were not humans but summoned creatures, golems, or maybe monsters in human form? In any case, they were not mere humans and more likely to be magical beings.

In the lead of the cohort of knights, was a Servant – a Servant who, with just a mere glance, Sita could sense that a one-on-one encounter with was nothing more than a suicide mission.

It was a short girl, though it was still difficult enough for Sita to see clearly at this distance, so perhaps it was a feminine man in a somewhat inappropriate attire. She was wearing a skirt, below her steel knight's armor, polished and glittering in the sun with a golden glare. In her hand there's, one might even say, a disproportionately large spear, made entirely of metal with some kind of contraption – some kind of engines? — in the middle of it. Simultaneously showing both the ability of her weapon and its extreme impracticality, for anyone who is not a Servant.

The girl's figure even seemed an amusing picture in a way when compared along with her weapon of choice. The girl herself was short, making her legs dangle at the sides of the tall horse. With the short ruffled blond hair on the girl's head, marked by two black locks on the sides of her head, lying like dog ears, along with her large eyes – it gave the impression of a curious puppy.

However, the emotion on the girl's face negated any drop of this impression. The girl looked devastated and filled not even so much with pain as with fatigue and doom. The word curious puppy had long ago grown into a tired old street hound, just waiting for the next day to be her last.

And that look of weariness, pain, and frustration was directed at Sita. As if through all the miles separating them, the Servant saw Sita, and looked directly into her eyes… And that she knew exactly what would follow, and that she welcomed it. What had happened to crush the spirit of the knight so totally?

But, it doesn't matter in the end.

"Haradhu Janaka." Sita chose not to disappoint the waiting Servant – putting down a tired, sick, old dog, was nothing but a kindness.

---

Mashu glanced at Arthuria as she walked away, and was deep in thought. 'I wonder where she's headed?'

'Mashu, I can't believe I'm about to say this, but–.' Galahad, her eternal companion as well as a possible manifestation of her sundered mind under the onslaught of stress, having given birth to a second personality to Mashu herself, spoke with some hesitation. 'I think Arthuria is not in the mood for questions.'

Mashu blinked at these words, and then rolled her eyes slightly, frowning her eyebrows a little, as if hoping to look in that way into the eyes of the Servant who had settled in her mind. 'What?'

'Yeah, I know it might seem strange, considering we're talking about Arthuria here, her stoicness puts blocks of ice to shame – but I think she's upset, maybe a little angry, and maybe even confused.'

Mashu blinked before returning her gaze back to the figure of Arthuria, she reached her way past the Administrator's house, then suddenly stopped, as if she really didn't know where she was supposed to go at the moment. 'Could she even feel those emotions?'

'Apparently so.' Galahad replied calmly. 'Oh, here comes the reason for her confused state of mind.'

"Mashu? Where are you?" Bedivere's soft voice distracted Mashu from her contemplation of Arthuria's strange behavior, causing her to turn toward the feminine man who seemed to be looking for her.

"Here", Mashu replied simply, before casting another brief glance at Arthuria, then at Bedivere who was now walking her way. "What happened to Arthuria?"

"I don't know." Bedivere answered simply, before making his way closer to Mashu before stopping, shifting his gaze back to Arthuria. "But… If I could make a guess? Then it's this whole situation. Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table, the Lion Goddess…"

Mashu shifted her gaze to Arthuria, seeing how she began to walk back and forth, almost in a circle, all the while unknowingly keeping Camelot in her sights. Like a strange moth attracted to the light, she was unable to ignore her desire to touch the burning flame on her own.

'Yeah, I can't say I understand her, but who knows what I'd think if I were her or if I ran into something like Galahad Alter… Uh, if I had a body, of course.' Galahad spoke before remembering an important detail.

Mashu, thinking about Galahad's words, was confused for a second before an all-important thought floated to the top of her mind. 'Speaking of which, how exactly are you reacting to the current situation? After all, you too are a Knight of the Round Table, a Knight of Camelot…'

'Nothing special really?' Galahad replied calmly. 'At least I think so – I can't say that the possibility of fighting Camelot or my old friends and acquaintances doesn't evoke any feelings in me at all. But in my current predicament, I don't demand more from the world than I'm entitled to from it. Yes, I have the chance to visit Camelot, and maybe some old acquaintances – so now what? I can't just get out of your head, and asking you to serve as my interpreter would only make you and me and my acquaintances and friends even more uncomfortable. Besides, it's unnecessary personal drama, so I'm just trying to treat things as I always do – by interacting with them simply as Servants, as usual. Though if we meet that bastard… I'll bash his head in!'

The unexpected ending was uttered with such loudness and force after Galahad's calm and even slightly sad reasoning, Mashu was forced to momentarily shake her head, as if someone had struck a huge gong inside her mind. 'Ouch! What was that about?!'

Galahad didn't immediately respond to Mashu's question, remaining silent for a few seconds before slowly exhaling. As if he could even make that sound without having lungs, or every other organ and body part, before slowly answering. Though not with what Mashu wanted. 'I don't want to talk about it…'

'Well, no, you just screamed inside my head – at least I have a right to know why you did it!' Mashu reasonably resented Galahad's words.

'Um… It's a family thing?' Galahad tried to brush aside Mashu's words, something that he should have known to be futile. The essence of dodging answering something, is by avoiding the person that you're avoiding answering in the first place – so where would Galahad hide when he's stuck inside Mashu's head?

Furthermore, with a skill borne of experience, gradually learning the tricks and specifics of communication with Galahad, Mashu could project her feelings straight into Galahad, allowing her to express non-verbal expressions. Which in this case was – glaring.

And, considering that Mashu managed to sense Galahad's uncomfortable shifting, Mashu could congratulate herself on a fair victory – especially when Galahad did respond reluctantly. 'Lancelot. If my father gets in the way – pardon me, Mashu, but I will take over your body, and break his head with my shield.'

'Can you?' Mashu was a little surprised as some very pertinent information was just blurted out by Galahad.

'The shield isn't the best weapon, but it's enough for one old bastard with zero parenting skills.' Galahad only snorted back.

'No, I mean the 'taking over my body' part. I don't remember you telling me about this ability before…' Mashu said slowly, continuing to glare at Galahad with a mental stare.

'Um, I just didn't happen to mention it, did I?' Galahad tried to slip out of Mashu's clutches, but being completely trapped in her head, he had very few avenues of escape.

'GALAHAD!' Mashu roared internally so loudly that her insides rang again, and with a kind of vindictive pleasure she got an almost pathetic response from Galahad.

'Mashu, not so loud! Yes, I can take control of your body… Or rather, I can try, I just didn't say anything because it never came up – and I would only ever use it if you're in grave danger. Well there's that time with Solomon, but there was nothing I could do myself then, and… Well, I kept it as a secret since I don't really see a point in telling – how silly it came out like that…'

'But Lancelot is simply a very special case, and I'm sorry, but I'd do nothing less than kick that bastard's ass.' Galahad metaphysically stomped his foot, causing Mashu to think for a moment before exhaling. 'Okay, you are constantly in my head as it is – at least you deserve some chance to stretch your legs a bit… But no more unexpected revelations like that!'

'Um, I'll try…?' Galahad said slowly, then, when Mashu cast another suspicious glance at him, immediately tried to clarify his position.

'Didn't I tell you about the Counter Guardians thing? I'll try not to do anything, but the situation changes every second – and anyway, there's Bedivere telling you something!'

Mashu, hearing Galahad's excuse, returned to reality for a moment, in order to see if he was being honest with her – and immediately noticing how Bedivere was pulling back into place the flaps of his white cloak. Something that he had held in place all this time without moving, a cloak that had covered half his body, before smiling warmly at Mashu.

"Thank you – you have no idea how much it meant to me… I wanted so much to tell someone about this, and I'm grateful that you were able to listen to me…"

"You're welcome!" Mashu replied reflexively, before throwing a cry of 'help' into the void, or more precisely to Galahad. 'So, Galahad, what has he been saying all this time?'

'No idea, I was talking to you!' Galahad's answer didn't help Mashu at all, making her feel for a moment as if she'd missed some incredibly important dialogue.

It couldn't be that important, right?

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 128: Plans

Ainz looked at Semiramis – Semiramis looked at Ainz.

Semiramis was thinking, trying to answer in her head the only question she could still formulate. Was there hope left for humanity?

If the first Hassan, the Assassin of all Assassins, could not kill Ainz, could not defeat him, lost in battle… Or had he simply fled? Unable to confront Ainz himself, now trying to gather allies, for Semiramis knew that Hassan would never leave on his own, retreating from his enemy. Semiramis' mere approach to him earlier had caused him to show his strength, his presence, and his mute warning. If Ainz invaded his fortress and had left without even a scratch on him, then – what then?

Semiramis really hoped that Hassan had fled… If Ainz had defeated Hassan in battle, it meant that Hassan had lost without a fight. What a scary thought!

Semiramis was not too afraid for her life. She was already ready to accept death just a few hours ago, with her head held up proudly – upraised even. But she was afraid of what this new information might mean, of what it meant for Semiramis, for her kingdom – for all of humanity.

The first Hassan was a mystery to Semiramis, an almost complete unknown – but that fact alone spoke volumes. There were not many unknowns for Semiramis, the legendary and, frankly, powerful Servant. So, if someone was even legendary to her, Semiramis could not even imagine who that Servant really was, how powerful the First Hassan really was.

And that Hassan had just lost to Ainz completely.

If even the First Hassan retreated before Ainz, it meant that Ainz was a legend even for a legend, excessive even for the excessive – in other words, something that is literally beyond her imagination… Semiramis was afraid of the possibilities of such things – the unknown.

Semiramis was not frightened by pain, torture, or loss, but like every rational living thing that could exist in this world, Semiramis was frightened by the unknown.

Ainz was also frightened by the unknown – though a little differently than the secretly very frightened Semiramis. If nothing else, she should be proud of her poker face, not to show the great terror she's in, not that the confused Ainz knows that. 'Um, what's next?'

Ainz had met his copy of this world, and the experience was not as painful as he had thought it would be! But… what to do next, he still didn't know.

'Medb didn't talk about that, about her, I mean 'my', plan, about what he's 'going' to do after the meeting. Should I just sit still again and let my Servants do their work? Or do I have to do something? My stomach is starting to twist again… Why is this happening? I'm not even using it and I don't have digestive problems. In an Undead body, especially a skeleton especially, I have no internal organs at all, how can my stomach twist?!'

After a moment, his suppression of emotion saved him once again, allowing Ainz to inwardly sigh in relief and return to his trying to figure out his next move. 'Yep, so I've met my copy of this world, and by all accounts, the meeting went well. In fact, the meeting went great! I never did get his name… He kept calling himself Death – and I don't think he's really Death, I mean, Death isn't any particular person, is he? No, I mean, there are all kinds of gods of death, and I guess death has its own representation in this world. Is he just LARPing…? There are many Servants that seem to get lost in their own head and act strangely all the time, is that what Medb thought about me… Okay, get it together, Ainz! That's not what we need to be thinking about!'

Ainz shook his head slightly, causing Semiramis to flinch, glaring at him with a wary look that made Ainz inwardly felt slightly offended. 'Hey, I just drove an unknown strange Undead armored-Servant out of your territory, why are you looking at me like that! No, I mean, yes, he disappeared along with the castle, so you can't say I did the job a hundred percent… But on the other hand, even if your target was the castle, I still did accomplish my task! At least partially… I mean, I still took out that man you were going to fight, so I did something good! But, ahem, perhaps, yes, if your goal was actually the castle, then I must have deprived you of the opportunity to gain the castle back now, since that Servant is gone with the castle… Well, now I'm starting to get a headache in addition to my stomach!'

Ainz refrained from stomping his foot like an angry, frustrated child – thanks primarily to the suppression of emotion that came up. But it still couldn't contain the sad sigh that made Semiramis, who's standing across from him, wince, and Ainz only felt mild irritation in response to that again. 'And why is she reacting to my every action like that? I haven't even done anything wrong to her! I mean, I did defeat her in combat and threw her off the throne, which I suppose is rather impolite – but she attacked me first! It was pure self-defense, no matter how you look at the whole situation!'

"Okay." Ainz finally came up with a plan, coming to an inner calm decision before feeling his connection with Medb take shape. 'For a start, I should contact Medb and tell her I did my part… And then I'll try to find out from her exactly what the plan is! If not the plan - at least her next move… Yeah, something like 'I guess you'll have no problem if I do it now?' She'll probably tell me if my actions hinder her plan at least, won't she?'

---

The arrow flew off the bowstring of Sita's bow. Like a beam of light, its passage gives Medb the opportunity to observe both the incredibly fast flight of the arrow and the flower of explosion in the distance as the Noble Phantasm of Rama's eternal wife obliterates the pursuers.

At least, Medb assumed that was what happened. Medb quite trusted Sita's fighting ability and motivation to perform her best without missing a shot. However, Medb could only rely on that with her imagination and observation of Sita's personality – unfortunately, the list of those rare talents Medb did not possess included superhuman vision.

No, Medb had excellent vision… Within human limits, that is. She had excellent reaction speed and vision acuity, as a Servant should, but at the range of a perfectly trained and even talented human – no sniper shots at a hundred kilometers without the aid of a telescopic sight for her.

However, anyone who was not completely blind could see the fireball of light in the distance.

The blast of fire seemed to have engulfed the figures of the pursuers whose silhouettes Medb could vaguely see, the blast wave only barely making it to the figure of the fleeing Servant. The Assassin, moving away, ended up with nothing more than a blast of heat on her back – and maybe giving her a little boost in acceleration… That is, the wind pushing her forward, not in terms of motivating her to move faster lest the next arrow would also destroy her.

There was nothing wrong with the motivation of a girl running away from the armored knights behind her without the extra help of an explosion behind her back.

Though, perhaps Medb should recalculate the effect of the blast wave.

As she could see, the Servant – a surprisingly weak Servant at that, was lifted by the blast like a rag doll before being hurled with force toward Medb's group. The girl's flight made a long low arc through the air before crashing her face into the sand, making a long groove through it – if she had been a human, her life would have ended there… Though the Servant was so weak that Medb was not yet ready to declare with certainty that she had survived her unexpected 'rescue'.

The Servant, like a fish tossed ashore in a storm, was still able to rise, overcoming any damage, beginning to run full tilt again. At the very least, Medb could applaud this Servant for her stamina and willingness to move forward, regardless of the obstacles.

Medb took a closer look at the column of dust and steam rising after the fireball had disappeared, before she felt a slight lingering feeling in her mind, giving away the nature of whoever had wished to contact her. 'Medb?'

"Ainz!" Medb smiled involuntarily, momentarily turning her full attention away from the outside world and the situation she had just found herself in, towards talking to her beloved. Nothing less would do. "It's good to hear from you!"

'Ahem, me too.' Ainz replied in her mind before beginning to speak a moment later. 'I've met with… My copy from this world, yes.'

"How did it go? Did you like it? Ah…!" After a moment, Medb bit her tongue – again, she said too much!

"I mean, I understand that he was a disappointment, like everything else in this world when compared to your greatness, but you might have liked it, right? I mean, I don't mean that you like being disappointed, that would be weird… I mean, I don't mean anything about that! If you like it, then why not, different people like different emotions, some like different things, things that I don't like at all. And I mean, I wouldn't judge someone for being liking something or… "

'Um, yes, Medb, I understand. There's no need to apologize.' Medb thanked Ainz for the way he interrupted her vortex of thoughts, drawing her deeper and deeper with silly words and excuses with a strength and sincerity that not every god has heard after answering the prayers of his faithful.

'I actually wanted to ask you something, I've come into control of what they call… What is it called again, Semiramis? Ah, right, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.'

Medb's mind stopped its run for a moment – The Hanging Gardens of Babylon?! The Noble Phantasm of Semiramis, her gardens, the concentration of her power and ability, the symbol of her rule, the sacred palace… And Ainz had just gotten a hold of it, along with the Queen, if what she had heard from Ainz was right.

It was not the most incredible of the artifacts that Medb knew, or that she had personally seen, or even that she possessed. Even if one spoke exclusively of the category of palaces, Medb's own palace, the Unseelie Court, was greatly superior to Semiramis' gardens. But even so, Medb could not call that soaring fortress weak or useless, even Ozymandias, with all his power, could not take the Gardens lightly.

Sure, Ozymandias could have destroyed, maybe even captured it if he were to use most of his forces – but it certainly wouldn't be easy. The Gardens of Semiramis were a symbol of her power – and rightfully so.

On the other hand, it was Ainz – and that spoke and explained all by itself, as a perfectly ordinary fact of this world.

'So I decided to, uh… Send it to Assassin's territory – for their protection from, uh, the enemy.'

Medb thought about Ainz's plans for a moment, and found that she couldn't pierce through the great machinations behind it. As much as she was confident in her intelligence, no matter how much she would think about it, she couldn't find a reason for this move.

Medb wasn't even sure if it fit into Ainz's previous plan…

No, or rather, of course it was Ainz, every action he took was part of the plan – and if Medb thought otherwise, it only meant that Medb's knowledge was incomplete. Which wasn't surprising. Medb could take as much pride in her qualities and her intelligence and experience as a ruler as she wanted, but relative to Ainz, the genius of all plans and intrigue, she was just a kid playing in the sandbox.

So she shouldn't have even entertained the idea that this wasn't part of Ainz' grand plan. Lest, she looks like a silly kid trying to prove to a math scientist that a larger number can't be subtracted from a smaller one.

"Okay, I get it." Medb nodded reflexively, though Ainz couldn't see her gesture, deciding to think again and try to understand Ainz' plan. Given that her previous understanding was clearly going nowhere, before asking Ainz on what she should do. The last thing Medb wanted was to hinder her beloved, no matter how much it galls her pride. "What do I need to do in that case?"

'You…?' Medb thought for a second that Ainz was surprised, although once again, that's probably what she should have expected all along! Given that she acted as if she understood Ainz' plan – he must have trusted her words… And she had let him down!

Medb wanted to grab hold of her hair and tear out a fistful before Ainz's soothing voice forced her back to reality. 'That's okay, just keep doing what you were doing before… I'm not going to stop you from doing that in any way with my actions, am I?'

Medb thought about Ainz's words for a moment before returning to reality, realizing that she was on the verge of a crossroad. And while Medb was now unsure exactly what Ainz' plan really was – indeed, she should have been 'doing what she was doing before' – fighting, that is. And his actions really had no effect on that! "Yeah, sure, got it! I'll do it now – kisses!"

A moment later, Medb and Ainz's conversation ended, allowing Medb to return to reality, concentrating her attention fully on the approaching Servant, and what was far more important in the current situation – her pursuers.

The Assassin looked wounded, but no more than that – what is close enough to mortal wounds for humans, is no more than an inconvenience for Servants, even the weakest of them.

The pursuers, on the other hand…

A significant portion of them were gone altogether. Some of them were simply vaporized on the spot, while others sustained injuries incompatible with life. Like broken golems, many of them lay on the sand as broken and tattered dolls, their corpus already beginning to dissolve, turning into pure mana. While some were still showing signs of life, trying to follow their leader on the broken semblances of horses – some without an arm, some without a leg, some no more than a shredded soot-covered half-man on half a roasted horse.

The previously glistening mighty figures, with its gleaming metal and magic blades, now looked nothing more than a pile of detritus.

Of all the pursuers, only one looked ready for battle. The leader, the Servant at the head of the Knights – however, she was not completely untouched either. The blast had covered half her body in soot, depriving her of several fingers and a dozen pounds of flesh burned in the blast fire.

But that was no problem for her, Medb could see how.

As if in a fast-forwarded film, her body was being rebuilt again – regenerating flesh back in place of charred coal. Growing back the missing parts, restoring even the tattered metal of the armor and the flesh of the riding beast, starting to run faster and more confident with each passing second.

In just a dozen seconds her body would recover fully, as if the Noble Phantasm of Sita was nothing more than a stupid joke, a fireworks display before the Servant.

"I wonder…" It was Medb's only remark at the sight of the approaching Servant, without a single other remark more. As if the Servant's incredible ability, alone placing her above the multitudes of others, was to Medb just another amusing absurdity of the Servant's nature.

"As Ozymandias said – the Lion Goddess has gifted her Servants and gifted her worthily… For Servants, that is."

In other words, killing this Servant was difficult, but nothing more than that, just another checkbox to be cleared. Regeneration isn't the most dangerous of abilities in the world, but in the right hands it's immensely annoying. "In other words, I need to find a way around her regeneration… That's easy enough."

As the Servant came closer – Medb finally saw it, step by step, until Medb could see in the Servant's eyes… Indifference.

Tiredness. Indifference. Apathy. Stubborn pain. Passionless. The Servant is already a dead man walking – now, to make its corpus follow along

A moment later, a giant hand burst from beneath the Servant's horse, grasping the Servant and her horse, then clinched instantly.

How to bypass the creature's regeneration? Easy. Kill it instantly.

Besides, judging by the look of the Servant – it couldn't even be called killing, but mercy for someone who had long been dead.

---

Medusa glanced intently around the sparse and unstructured rows of vendors' tents, what could be considered in the current sad and cramped conditions the 'central marketplace' of the city. Glancing over the unstructured rows of occasional visitors and weary vendors desperately trying to sell their goods, not even with a desire for profit, but with a desire to get rid of those before they caused them more harm.

Of course, under current conditions; food, water, and, more generally, any perishable resource was in high demand. Still, judging by the conditions of the Singularity, all resources used to sustain life for another day should have been expensive. But… How could you even trade when what's valuable or not were all in question?

Without a central value for trade, as no one in the current conditions was at all interested in any gold trinkets or jewels, only things that sustain life were of any value now. What's the use for gold? You couldn't eat them, you couldn't fight off monsters with it, and they weren't good cover on a cold night either.

The lack of money meant the absence of normal commerce. It's hard to maintain a healthy full-fledged economy when a rug, a sword, and two rams are the 'earning' of a trader for a day, how would you divide its value? Such gridlock meant that traders could not afford to trade, the buyer did not know where to find the goods, and all that existed were desperate daredevils who decided to risk it all. Hoping to turn bales of their wool, if not into gold, at least into objects of approximately the same value.

These factors created a complex scheme of mutual settlements, barters and despair, when the trader who decided to risk everything on the march to the crusader city found that the buyers literally had nothing to pay for his goods. Something which put him in a terrible situation, not being able to pay for water or food.

And with ten wagons of wheat, which will soon begin to rot, left in the air for weeks – if it had not rotted away during the journey across the wastelands completely, that is.

Somewhere else, in the kingdom of Ozymandias, for example, or in Assyria ruled by Semiramis, as far as Medusa knew, at least, from Jacques' stories. A kind of state existed, people still trying to live ordinary lives, no matter how much had changed around them, grasping tightly at the remnants of their past normality.

The people in Ozymandias' lands, for example, were still sending barges of stone down the Nile to build mansions. As if the Apocalypse was just another war or crisis outside their normal lives, and the suddenly resurrected legendary Pharaoh Ozymandias was just another new monarch on the throne.

And as to how they rationalize magic… Well, for Magic, they'd known from the beginning that there were men with dog heads and four arms at the ends of the earth, and that a grumpy old man who lived nearby was some sort of cursed black magus. It's just that this time the magic was closer and more overt than usual.

In other words, Assyria and Egypt still existed as states – not experiencing the best of times, but quite functioning and not one step from death.

But the Crusader state was not only in bad shape – it was barely hanging on to its miserable existence. Something between a barely organized city-state in a state of permanent crisis and a crumbling organized clique that was lucky enough to take control of a settlement. Their continued existence held solely on the authority of one leader, Jacques, and several barely visible throughout their daily lives, subordinates.

Leaders that were trying to establish something like rules of conduct, not the full laws of the state, but at least some conventional code.

Even so, this was not the worst example that existed in this Singularity. The Assassin sect was not a state or any kind of common unified social unit, just a staging post or refugee shelter. Not even a proper state, but simply a desperately clinging group of people under the very, very conditional control of the Assassin sect itself. Surviving solely on food supplies from the outside.

Even if Camelot didn't make any move, they would die out in a matter of weeks without any outside help or harm.

In other words, the crusader state managed in a sense even to exist, quite the achievement – all the other states were simply more blessed and lucky.

In the case of Egypt, one didn't even need to think hard for the reason that it prosper – Ozymandias. The pharaoh of pharaohs was capable of it and much more – just like Semiramis could. Even if the latter was inferior to Ozymandias both in mastery of government and in personal strength, with her Garden – Semiramis is anything but weak or helpless. The two leaders were the reason why their states were in the great position they're in.

Thinking of it that way, the very existence of the crusader state was actually a surprise.

Jacques de Vitry… Was there really such a Servant? It is likely that he was not a sufficiently famous historical figure or legendary hero, but there was also no reason why he should not end up in the Throne of Heroes. Though, without even infamy to blister him, he would rank in the least for Servant ranks.

However, the Jacques that Medusa met was not Jacques de Vitry.

From the moment Medusa was gifted with the power of the Grail with the help of Ainz, Medusa had gained many abilities – two new skills, and even two new Noble Phantasms.

'The Hero Killer Eyes', the original Medusa has been gifted, or rather cursed, with petrifying eyes since her birth as the Servant 'Medusa Gorgon'. It was an ability that turns to stone anything her gaze falls upon.

Contrary to the legends of mankind, it was not necessary to meet her gaze for Medusa to turn them to stone. She only had to look at her target, and it would begin to turn to stone instantly. Even Servants would have to try hard not to feel the effect of her gaze.

A direct meeting of eyes? Instant petrification for all but the most powerful of beings.

Medusa could not deprive herself of this ability, except by depriving herself of her eyes entirely. Her gaze was forever cursed. That is, in the past – with Ainz's action, she had been freed from her curse.

In the first place, Medusa got what she had always wished for, the ability to deactivate her gaze at will. In the second place, she received the trigger of her most powerful Noble Phantasm.

And the blood was spilled. Medusa – Echidna, to mention the specific details of exactly who she was now, after absorbing the Grail, had received the ability to create the most perfect monster against the most powerful of heroes.

The perfect poison for just one opponent – and a poison made only for one is meaningless unless one knows about what poison would work.

The ability to analyze was not something special to Servants, with how complete the result based on the capabilities of the Servant in question. In fact, there were many flavors of the same ability with differing names. For Medusa, this ability allowed her to evaluate her enemy from the perspective of a 'hero'.

What their weaknesses were, what their aspirations were, and how their enemy carried themselves – information on how to confront them, on how to create the perfect monster to defeat them.

The less the enemy correlated with the notion of "hero," the less information Medusa could get about him.

In other words, a legendary and noble hero like Joan of Arc was open to her like the palm of her hand. Most Servants provided at least a semblance of information – for the more heroic they are, the more Medusa could see.

For the most heroic, Medusa could see all their abilities, barring perhaps their true identity. For the less heroic, only the parameters or even just a rough estimate.

Even Servants like Berserkers, or even a strange Servant like Alice, could not shield themselves completely from Medusa's sight.

For a Servant, there was always 'something' that Medusa could see. Even the most evil of the Servants, the craziest or the most mired in darkness, possessed some heroism in themselves. If not in terms of their legend and stories, at least in the way they carried themselves. A glittering blade and a proud grin on the face can be on the faces of a hero and a villain, creating at least a slight similarity between them, even if superficial.

But for Jacques? She couldn't see anything. In fact, she didn't feel like a hero at all.

She didn't even feel like a real Servant.

Superficially perhaps, skins deep only, she exuded a feeling of familiarity that could fool superficial examination. But that concealment was paper-thin, capable of saving them from the inattentive gaze of a blurred vision, which was the innate sense of Servants without special skills.

In other words, it was nothing more than like someone hiding behind a tree too thin to hide a fat person's guts. It was almost like a farce, if Medusa were to be honest.

And yet, Scáthach could not get through this trick. Why?

Judging by the way she had communicated with Jacques so far, and the way she believed her words, a thousand years of experience fighting in the Lands of Shadows meant little when faced with such a Servant. No, with such a creature.

And that in itself spoke too much.

The Lands of Shadows did not contain every possible and impossible kind of evil, or even not evil at all, since being evil would have at least some superficial resemblance to ordinary Servants.

No, Jacques felt… Different.

Different in the sense of, like Ainz – or maybe his Servants. Not the same – similar, but not quite. Similar in the sense of superficial similarity, as a villain is similar to a hero, and just as different from Ainz and his Servants.

And yet Medusa could only compare them to each other, for they were not similar to ordinary Servants at all.

The feeling of otherness, the feeling of meeting other beings of a different nature, a different species, and… When you look into the abyss, the abyss looks back at you – but worse things happen when you ask the abyss a question, and it answers.

If Medusa had not encountered Ainz, she would not even have been able to understand what she saw in front of her when she looked at Jacques. She would not have been able to understand her nature.

But Medusa had.

In other words, Medusa already knew exactly what she was supposed to see in the not-Servant in front of her. And as she saw Jacques' true nature, the being realized it. It had realized that Medusa knew far more about her than other Servants.

And that's why she was so open about it.

A mute conversation between the two initiated into the secret knowledge of the world of the Servants that came to a single agreement in the end.

And so Medusa could only smile.

Indeed, if Scáthach's beliefs were to be struck the hardest blow – Jacques was more suited to it than anyone else.

Scáthach could only really blame herself, who does she think she is? To attack Ainz like she did and even insult him!

Medusa felt that some payback was in order.

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea and Staff: One mother and four children

For Angrboda, fighting was… It was hard for her to say if she really liked fighting or not.

No, it's not like she disliked it either. Breaking her enemy's head on the battlefield, ripping out his spine and grinding his bones with her teeth, the squeal of pain from the minced meat that was still alive. Or even when the blood, boiling with adrenaline and pain flowing down her throat, was something she enjoyed. Especially the last moments of agony as the mutilated body that had once been alive tried to escape from her jaws, it was all exhilarating. Who could not enjoy such a thing?!

It was another common joy of life that Angrboda enjoyed, just as others enjoy a nice light breeze or the shining sun caressing their skin.

But on the other hand, Angrboda didn't consider such pleasure something special. She wasn't a battle-crazed maniac, she didn't get any special pleasure from torture and if she has to make a comparison, she probably saw fighting her opponent more like killing cockroaches, or hunting game, like hares.

Do you, after all, enjoy torturing, breaking the crust of good bread?

Of course, she could enjoy a battle like one appreciates food. All those mountain-crushing blows, blood bubbling excitement, and the split seconds that decided the fate of a battle, all of it were enthralling to her, as was perfectly normal for people to enjoy any activity. If something was interesting and of quality in itself, why not enjoy it?

But she did not seek such a thing separately, such entertainment was not for herself, valuable or more valuable simply by the fact of the battle.

No, Angrboda liked a lot of things other than combat, so she wasn't worried about Ainz going to the new Singularity without her.

She was a little annoyed that Ainz went to Singularity with Medb, that harlot, but Angrboda could only shrug it off. What can you do, yet another girl in Ainz' harem? At this point, Angrboda didn't even particularly care anymore. One more, or even one less, for Angrboda the situation would only change when the number of Ainz's concubines crossed the threshold of a few dozen and began to approach a hundred. In which case, Angrboda herself would need to start selecting suitable servants for herself.

Not that Angrboda needed to do that, not that she even particularly wanted to do it. But, as Ainz's official wife, it was certainly worth it for her to maintain a certain standing and reputation. After all, it would just be weird if Ainz had a hundred concubines and his wife didn't have a single lover on the side.

On the other hand, this was all a problem for the future, only faintly related to Angrboda's current situation. For the moment, she could afford to relax and, instead of contemplating the harem she was entitled to, do what she loved! That is taking care of her wonderful, adorable children!

"Jack, your tossing isn't bad, but you're avoiding direct confrontation too much! I realize you're not as big and tenacious as your mommy, but you can't act like a frightened kitten, you're the famous Jack the Ripper, the terror of the London streets, after all! Use it to your advantage – instead of trying to get them from behind, sometimes it pays to appear ahead of the target! While moving straight at them, you'll have a clear view of their throat, heart, and lungs, the biggest weaknesses, and it's easier to cut them off! Besides, you can use the additional pressure factor of approaching from the front on your opponent. Especially taking into consideration that he will forget about you anyway as soon as you step back, and you can repeat the tactic time and time again and after that without decreasing the effect! And besides, seeing you, a little girl, approach, many will doubt you as their target even for the barest of a moment and this may delay their hand or throw off their accuracy, securing your kill! This will not happen in case of attack from the back. Most likely the Servant will still feel you approaching, but they will not see you, which means you cannot use this factor to the fullest! That's right, sometimes the best killer tactic, especially given your ability – is not to attack from the back, but to attack head-on! Then, you can use your advantages and even choose the right one for the situation!" Oh children, truly, the joy of life!

"I got it, Mommy!" Jack nodded enthusiastically but with no small part thoughtfulness, proving that she's listening to Angrboda properly. She then frowned slightly and rushed forward to her target, another of Angrboda's children – Alice.

Alice was not an ideal target for the little Assassin. Of all the Servants in Chaldea and in general, she was one of the few exceptions that was capable of ignoring Jack's skill, depriving the victim of the memory of the Assassin's attack. In other words, Alice was capable of ignoring an important part of Jack's battle strategy. And if it was only that, as a Caster, she would still be in a great advantage against Jack, an Assassin, perfectly countered by Casters, but at the same time. Worse for Jack, Alice also had another significant advantage over her, even several, over any other Servants.

For example, Alice could perfectly simulate an encounter with Jackie, perfectly. Alice could create a simulacrum, not a full person but a non-human mind woven by the unknowable Unnamed Book God Alice that could simulate Jack's attack. Perfectly reproducing a normal person's reactions to Jack's actions, adjusted for her skill, as if she was fighting against Alice. Surprise attacks, in other words, don't work on Alice.

It was like beating someone in chess by plugging their moves against an extremely smart computer and then acting accordingly.

The second advantage was that Alice was a target of unconventional size. She was so small that it forces Jack to change her attack trajectory against an opponent of Jack's size, something very unusual and rare, instead of the usual average human targets.

Even so, a fight between Servants is very rarely dependent on something as static as advantages and disadvantages.

Moments later, Jack's sharp movement caused her blade to appear like a flash, Alice only managed to jerk sideways before the blade ripped through her throat. The cut spews scarlet blood onto the cold gray floor, cutting Alice's air passage alongside it, causing Alice to reflexively try to close the opened cut with her hands, while raising it in an attempt to defend herself.

Still, as a Caster, Alice's physical combat abilities left a lot to be desired.

Jack, using her incredible dexterity, was already prepared for the flailing, the blade in Jack's other hand plunged into Alice's ripped throat, cutting through the flesh without effort. The greatly devastating wound caused Caster's head to swing sideways, almost tearing it completely off her neck. And then, like a puppet with cut strings, Alice's dead body tumbled to the ground.

It made for a very grizzly picture.

"He-he, it's my victory!" Jack grinned triumphantly in a way that only children could. Her grin was filled with pride, as it stretched across her face, she even stuck her chest forward while placing her arms at her sides, looking adorable. It would make for a very cute picture, except for the mangled, bloody body of the little girl with her head almost off her neck, lying at her feet in the pool of her own blood.

"Not bad." Alice's voice echoed a moment later, and her body, previously lying in a surreal picture fit for some particularly high-quality horror movie, disappeared. Without any sound or visual effect, the mangled dead body turned back into the standing figure of Alice, who was staring intently at Jack.

"But when I shook my head because of the first hit, you missed just a little and slammed the second blade into the vertebrae instead. It broke, of course, but you didn't manage to cut the head off completely, if I had 'Battle Continuation' or a similar skill, I could have hit back at that moment. And, given your vulnerability…"

"Meanie, meanie! Meanie, doesn't want to admit that I won, boo!" Jack stuck her tongue out in a perfectly childish gesture, looking at Alice with a glare.

"No, Jack, I just wanted… " Alice tried to explain her reasoning to Jack, but she clearly wasn't listening to Caster anymore. Sticking her tongue out, Jack had found a new source of entertainment, showing her tongue to Alice, not even trying to prove her point anymore, but just for fun. "Booooooooo!"

Alice, seeing such a childish attitude from Jack, only sighed and turned her gaze to Angrboda, to which Angrboda only smiled warmly and shrugged, so that Alice was left to deal with Jack alone.

Alice's third major advantage was that no matter how many times her body was killed, as long as she had a minimal supply of mana – she could indefinitely continue to resurrect. Using some sort of time manipulation, forever returning to the 'beginning of the book', denying her current 'finale'.

A very important trait for Alice, and for Jack, too, and for Angrboda, too. Though, if Jack were permanently killing her children while playing, Angrboda would have to step in and ban such games entirely. Angrboda was ambivalent about death, but that didn't mean that Angrboda wanted her children dead, even if at the hands of her other children. At least in the current gaming situation, she would be less 'calm' if it were a fight for real.

"Ah, children, what mother wouldn't enjoy watching her offspring have fun…" Angrboda smiled warmly, looking at Jack and Alice, who were now running around, with Alice trying to catch an escaping Jack. She had almost brushed a small tear out of the corner of her eye before she shifted her gaze to her companion, to her more moody children. "Cainabel, don't you want to play with your little sisters?"

---

"What am I, five?" Cainabel furrowed her brow in response. "And besides, you're not my mother, I am a goddess. And I am older than you."

"Don't the gods have parents?" Angrboda only smiled warmly at these words. "Not to mention that age is just a number."

Altera had the opportunity to comment on Angrboda's words, but in addition to that realization, there was also a deep understanding that sometimes opportunities were worth leaving unexploited.

This understanding had been hammered into Altera a little earlier, literally and figuratively, by Cainabel. Whether Altera was grateful for this understanding was hard to say.

"I have no parents – I was born with the birth of the world, and so I will remain after its death." Cainabel, however, did not surrender under Angrboda's onslaught, who had only cast a slight condescending glance at her. Like a parent watching their child first begins to show signs of 'rebellion' after becoming a teenager, but then says nothing more. Something which made Cainabel slightly clench her teeth, but refrain from commenting more.

Exactly, it was this condescending manner of communication, as if from a wise adult to an unintelligent child, that annoyed Cainabel the most. But at the same time, Cainabel could do nothing about it. If she began to show resentment, or any such strong reaction to Angrboda, she would only prove to her that she was the rebellious child that Angrboda saw her as. This annoyed Cainabel – immensely so, but Cainabel saw no way out of this situation either, stuck in this unstoppable cycle and forced to endure Angrboda's attitude toward her.

Besides, Angrboda was stronger than she was. This, too, affected Cainabel's attitude toward her.

In a way, it was ridiculous, a goddess born with the creation of the world against some giantess who had appeared less than a thousand years ago, the balance of power should be lopsided in her corner. But the bitter irony of the situation was that Cainabel, even as one of the oldest gods and goddesses born with the creation of the world, was simply not strong enough. No, it was more accurate to say that she was too weak. In the Nine Worlds, Cainabel was just a minnow. Not exactly dust under the giants' feet, but no more than a pesky fly whose salvation lay in the fact that killing her would have taken far more effort and time from the giants around than it was worth. By comparison, Angrboda was one of the players of the world.

She was also not a big player, unlike Ainz – but compared to Cainabel she was far more worthy of the title 'big fish'. And while it was silly, for Cainabel, a goddess, to feel her inadequacy compared to Angrboda, she was finding it very frustrating.

If Cainabel was in her full power… She would still be worth less than a glance from Angrboda.

In the current situation, as far as Cainabel herself understood, Angrboda was stripped of most of her powers, making her much, much weaker than when she was in YGGDRASIL. But even so, stripped of her powers and left with only her own body and basic skills, Angrboda could still turn Cainabel into a little ball of mincemeat, bone, and expensive cloth with a few moves.

If Cainabel had used her third Phantasm, forbidden by Ainz, perhaps… No, definitely!

Undoubtedly, she would last three minutes in the fight with Angrboda!

And three minutes later, she would be turned into a bloody meatball – this time even smaller and more pathetic than before she had used her Noble Phantasm.

The sound of a glass placed on the small table, from which Angrboda had just taken a small sip, caused Cainabel to divert her thoughts and look away.

Of course, Angrboda only took a 'small' sip by her own standards. In one 'sip' the glass was emptied completely, causing Altera to rise from her seat and pour another helping of coffee into Angrboda's glass. The action causes the giant to look a little more closely at Altera before returning to looking contemplating at her 'children'. At the moment she seemed amused by Jack's action, who had completely forgotten about her childish resentment towards Alice, and now joyfully scribbled colored markers in a book.

Judging by the look of concentration on Jack's face, she was very preoccupied by whatever she's scribbling on the book. And judging by the detached smile on Alice's face and the title printed on the book, 'The Great Encyclopedia of Britain', it was not a coloring book at all.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Angrboda's voice brought Cainabel out of her musing, and almost immediately, she found almost everything else to be more important. Almost yawning at the boring subject of the conversation, which Cainabel had never gotten to in all that time, Angrboda could only chuckle mirthfully at Cainabel's cute actions.

Cainabel could only grit her teeth in response, the topic that she would like to discuss with Angrboda was something sensitive, something that would determine her position in the future. As much as she didn't like to admit it, she was nervous.

Cainabel turned her gaze to Angrboda's merry 'children' to delay answering, of course, it was hard to say how that paternal relation works, before taking a sip of coffee from her cup. Of course, Cainabel would have preferred to sip expensive red wine, it suited her style far more than a mug of coffee, but the current situation made such indulgence impossible.

Angrboda didn't want Cainabel to set a 'bad example' for the children by consuming alcohol in front of them.

Altera could have made a little note that it was somewhat unusual to encounter a mother who considered the display of alcohol more dangerous to her children's psyche than the decision to let one of her daughters kill the other. But, as was said, Altera had been taught enough to know that not every discovery should be said out loud.

"I'd like to know…" Cainabel finally spoke up, preferring to rip off the band-aid once and for all.

"What do you plan to do after the whole Singularity situation is resolved?"

Angrboda glanced at Cainabel, then smiled a little, teasing. "Do I have to do something?"

Cainabel waited a moment and a second, waiting for the thought to continue, like 'do I have to do something when Ainz has already promised me to conquer the world' or 'I am already the future queen'. But instead of continuing on, cementing Cainabel's future plans, Angrboda returned to watching Jack, who continued to joyfully use the markers on the encyclopedia, despite Alice's many complaints.

Seeing that Angrboda was not going to talk further, Cainabel was forced to continue on talking. "But… You do have some plans, don't you?"

"Hmm…" Angrboda seemingly thought about her answer for a moment, then shook her head. "No, not really."

Cainabel frowned, now even showing more signs of aggression – no, more like irritation, which Altera had learned well enough, Cainabel was quick and open in her irritability. "You have something planned, don't you? I mean, any plans at all? You're not going to keep sitting still after the whole outside world is back in place and humanity is restored… are you?"

Angrboda only took another sip of her coffee mug as an answer, allowing Altera to refill the glass again before shifting her gaze to Cainabel and shrugging slightly. "No. I mean, I don't specifically plan on staying in one place, but I don't plan on leaving the confines of this Chaldea. I don't see the point."

"Don't see the point?" Cainabel frowned even more, but still kept any hostility at bay. "But… What about your ambitions? Plans? Your hatred of Humans?!"

"My hatred of humans?" The last word finally caught Angrboda's attention, causing her to turn to Cainabel and smile slightly. "No, I don't hate them, I just think of them as cockroaches… True, a smarter, more tenacious, and more palatable likeness of those odious insects, but cockroaches nonetheless."

"If you wake up to a cockroach crawling on your leg, you feel disgust, irritation, anger, and you flick that cockroach away. Whether it kills the bug? Does it matter?" Angrboda did finally condescend to explain her opinion to Cainabel – and, indirectly, to Altera.

"If you find a cockroach in your house, you also squash it, and if you see a cockroach nest in your house, you will do anything to destroy those. But on the other hand, if you were to walk down the street and saw a whole pile of cockroaches crawling – you're likely to only feel disgust, and just try to avoid them. Maybe if you're in a bad mood, you'll squash a dozen of them – and people are tasty enough, so you can snack on them if you want. But, in the end, only a fool would decide to devote their life to destroying all the cockroaches on this planet, all the people in this world. And only a pathetic person would decide to rule over cockroaches by conquering their realms, wouldn't they?" Angrboda lifted her mug slightly to her lips before looking at the cup of coffee before pausing and setting it back down for some reason without taking a sip.

Cainabel, as a vampire, had to agree, humans were a good enough and tasty snack – why Angrboda would compare them to such unpalatable things such as cockroaches, almost ruined her appetite.

Angrboda slightly regretted her comparison of humans with cockroaches… Come to think of it, cockroaches didn't whet her appetite at all. Maybe someone considered such dishes delicacies, but certainly not Angrboda, so her appetite, even in relation to the coffee, was definitely hurt by this discussion. The memory of foul arthropods, forced Angrboda to distract herself by watching the children, trying to regain a favorable frame of mind.

The silence seems to carry on, Cainabel, contemplating what was said, took a sip, along with Altera taking a sip from her own cup.

---

Altera wasn't used to concepts such as 'like' or 'dislike' – especially not in regard to instruments of war or people, and especially about food.

Strong black coffee, what was the point of it? Many people consume coffee to get their dose of caffeine, to gain a brief energy boost, allowing them to suppress their desire for sleep for a while, to boost their productivity for the brief foreseeable future. For Altera, this effect was meaningless. Her Endurance and Skills, ensured that she was in her absolutely perfect condition at all times, which, coupled with her Servant nature and Master's mana, allowed her to ignore any negative conditions affecting her body and psyche altogether.

Something like sleep deprivation was an alien concept for her.

So, with its intended effect as an energy booster useless for her, only the joy of appreciating the taste remained.

The taste of black strong coffee was disgusting.

A very strong odious taste, hitting all her taste receptors with a tart and bitter taste, coursing through her throat, with the bitter taste remaining on her tongue.

Bitter, strong, unpleasant – the three words with which Altera could describe the taste of coffee.

Altera set her cup of coffee aside before reaching for the sugar bowl, and beginning to add sugar to her coffee. Altera loved sweet things – so the taste of coffee could only be boosted with more sugar she added. The volume of her sip was only ten milliliters, which meant there was another one hundred and sixty-four milliliters in the mug… Hmm, the ideal proportion in that case would be…

"You mean, no plans at all? No desires? No ambition?" Knocking Altera out of her optimum plan of just adding the coffee to the sugar, Cainabel looked at Angrboda as if with challenge and condescension. But Altera noted that it was difficult for Cainabel to do so.

Given the way Angrboda had treated and behaved toward Cainabel, which made Cainabel's attitude more like that of an arrogant teenager, insulting their parent as an 'old wreck' not keeping up with the most fashionable trends. An expression which made Cainabel look away – before realizing that by doing so, she even looked more like a child who had suddenly realized that he was a child, and therefore had to act like an 'adult.'

Altera, noting this fact, shifted her gaze to Angrboda.- 'I wonder if this was Angrboda's special Skill, her Noble Phantasm – or a personal ability? Perhaps it wasn't Angrboda's ability at all, but that of any 'mother'? In that case, this scene was especially improbable, since Angrboda was by no means Cainabel's mother, though Angrboda claimed otherwise.'

"Depends on what you mean by ambition." Angrboda only grinned slightly at Cainabel's question, showing, for the first time, something more than her 'motherly' side for this conversation.

"Is living well with your family something ambitious or not? Is taking care of the kids a future plan or not? Dealing with all the people who will get in the way of my quiet happiness – I think I'm quite willing to do that. In other words, if the question were 'what's your specific plan of action after the Singularities are over', I would answer it like this…" Angrboda thought for a moment, before taking one sip of coffee, finishing the cup. Altera took her eyes off the sugar to pour a new cup of coffee for Angrboda, her assigned role in this conversation, then looked at the coffee pot, empty. And before Altera could brew another pot, Angrboda began speaking.

"I would be in Chaldea with my children, living a good life in which I could raise them decently and with a decent education, before letting them fly free, but never letting them forget that their home was here. Speaking specifically of me, I wouldn't leave this place until another apocalyptic event like the Singularities began, or until Ainz called for me. The children, however, after they are old enough, are free to leave the nest, I will not follow them or keep them safe. If they don't want to come home or ask for help, I won't force them. If they die, then that is the cruel price of their experience. But if they want to come back to me, I will always welcome them with open arms."

"And nothing more?! No quest for secret knowledge, no hunt for humans, no revenge on humanity and heroes for killing your children?!" Cainabel looked at Angrboda as if she'd never seen her before, and apparently her perception of the giantess before was quite different from what she was seeing now.

"Oh yes, of course, how could I have done otherwise? That, for example, that Beowulf…" Angrboda's eyes flashed with a sneer, as if the name was too 'big', too good for the legendary hero of the world, as if Angrboda saw him as nothing more than trash.

"That hideous beast, I'd kill a hundred of them if I saw them… Except, of course, unless Ainz decided to let them live for some plan of his – although even then, I would need reasons for not killing such 'large cockroaches' on sight. But the answer to that is simple – 'only if they appear before my eyes.' If such a creature appears within a dozen kilometers of Chaldea, my home, I'll bash its head in as soon as I feel its presence. If it exists on the other side of the world, as long as it doesn't piss me off, or do anything to attract my attention, it can continue existing – it's simple."

Angrboda shrugged, as if she couldn't understand how Cainabel couldn't grasp such a simple thought. "Everyone has a niche in this world – even deadly and horrific diseases that need to die out for the good of society. But not all people devote their time to fighting cancer or rabies, and as such, I won't devote my life to destroying 'monster killers'. I can only clap in admiration for my ambitious children if they decided to take on this responsibility and consider it my duty to help those when I see an opportunity before me, nothing more. After all…"

Angrboda took another sip, causing Altera to stare silently at the emptied coffee pot, juggling her need to brew another pot with listening to the conversation. "Scáthach still hasn't been eaten by me – and there's plenty of blood on her hands."

The last note, that Angrboda would happily kill one of the Servants if not for Ainz's presence, caused a chill to appear in the actually quite warm room.

"Children, who wants some candy!?" And just like that, Angrboda was easily distracted from her conversation with Cainabel, before rising and moving toward Jack. Who had instantly discarded the book and coloring pens, tossing towards Alice, who clearly felt grateful to Angrboda for being able to interrupt Jack's act of vandalism to Alice's favorite things, books.

"So Angrboda is out of the competition, that's good. Medb is ambitious, but she's completely useless with only Ainz in her mind – her plans for controlling the world come in at the millionth place, right after her plans to hold hands with Ainz." Cainabel returned to her musings, speaking under her breath, clearly having long since stopped seeing Altera as anything more than some kind of furniture or silent robot pouring coffee into her empty mug.

"So… Huh, it seems that my position as Ainz's Lieutenant is completely safe for lack of other applicants! Perfect!"

Grinning at her unexpected good fortune, Cainabel looked towards Altera, then frowned. "Aren't you putting too much sugar in your coffee, tin-can?"

"The limit of solubility has not been reached." Altera replied, nodding as she continued to stir the sugar in the mug and watch it dissolve in the coffee. Before, satisfied that the sugar was sufficiently stirred, she brought the drink to her lips and took a sip, noting inwardly with satisfaction that the bitter taste of the coffee had been overcome, and the drink was now sweet enough.

"Hmm, give it to me," Cainabel held out her hand without waiting for a response, already knowing what Altera would do in the next second. And indeed, Altera gave the drink easily, it's not like she enjoys the coffee enough to contest Cainabel on it.

Cainabel took a small sip, and immediately her face twisted in disgust that was hard to convey with human emotion. Unconsciously, her smile stretched inhumanly so that the corners of her lips stretched to the back of her head, contorting her face in a grimace of contempt. "How much sugar did you add to this?!"

"Two hundred and ninety-four grams," Altera answered calmly and honestly. "A full sugar bowl."

"This… This… " Cainabel frowned, but contrary to Altera's expectations, she did not toss the cup away, but instead set it aside and… How strange, Cainabel was not in any way gentle as she slammed the cup, but only a few drops spilled? How strange.

"Tin-can, I want to see you drink that crap!"

Did it seem to Altera that Cainabel tried not to spill Altera's drink, placing it on the table in disgust? Probably so, but… As was said, Altera had learned perfectly well that not every opportunity for a comment had to be taken – and so Altera placed her cup of coffee to her lips and took a not so-small sip, finishing the cup.

Indeed, the sweet things tasted the best… Now, if only Cainabel could stop looking at her as if she was eating a baby or something, that would be better.

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 129: Knights

A huge hand rose from the sand, lifting the unmoving victim aloft in its grasp. The victim, whose body and armor had time to recover in the ten seconds that she had been left alone, along with her steed. Sadly, no armor could stop what happens next. With a forceful clasp, the hand made of sand, clenched, and with a disgusting sound, the steed and its rider disappear in a spray of blood and viscera.

In all directions, blood, bone fragments, bits of meat and other torn and minced body parts, like a liquid-filled juice packet sharply squeezed in the hand of a child, decorated the desert surface.

You could not even call such a picture terrifying. Everything happened so quickly and violently that an observer's mind could not even fathom that the minced meat splattered in all directions was a human being and not a mosquito crushed on the wall, leaving behind an ugly red stain. It was more like a strange, absurd delirium than a battle scene. And the fact that the huge arm, which looked like it belonged to a titan buried under the desert suddenly determined to move, vanished into thin air a moment later, without movement or sound, vanishing like a mirage before the observer's inflamed mind, only strengthened the image.

With the thing holding it aloft gone, what remains of the crushed body, fell from a great height in free-fall, no longer supported by the giant's arm. It was also fitting into this narrative.

Medb watched this scene with some interest, trying to determine whether her armor-clad opponent was dead. She also deftly ignored Sita's arrows and Nitocris' spells flying past her face, crashing into the much still able to move and not fully destroyed followers of the crushed Servant, trying to reach them.

The mutilated pile of meat lay motionless on the sand for a few moments, crumbling into the yellow sand, now stained crimson red, the body of the Servant motionless. Before, with a more sickening crunch than the one that had accompanied its crushing by Medb's illusionary arm, the torn pile of meat began to jerk, moving in defiance of the laws of nature.

The shards of shattered bones rose momentarily. As if in mockery of all humanity's knowledge of biology, they began clinging to one another, splicing again and again. The metal armor of the knight's armor then also began gnashing in the embedded flesh, rising with a bone-chewing sound in an attempt to return the body to its previous form.

The mutilated lump of flesh in no way represented the 'normal' state of the Servant's body, but her current actions represented an even more unnatural abomination to human nature.

"How interesting…" Medb looked with interest at the rising pile of flesh, quickly regaining its previous features. Medb began analyzing the power and information of the Servant opposite her, she could clearly judge, swear on it even, that her blow had killed her opponent. The huge hand possessed no other ability than its physical strength, every drop of which it used in this one single attack.

The fact that the Servant was reduced to nothing more than a lump of flesh and a pool of blood and viscera, proof to that claim. And yet, here it is, before her eyes, the viscera reforming into the figure of the Servant she had just killed. Even her armor were returning into its previously pristine from

Certainly, there were all sorts of creatures capable of amazing feats of regeneration, but this regeneration was no such trick. After all, one has to be alive, for regeneration to even be capable of saving a life – and the Servant was definitely dead for several moments before it began to regenerate again.

Resurrection, then? No, the creatures of this world have not demonstrated any such ability – and besides, Medb did not sense any magic activating the moment the Servant 'died'.

Her body was dead for a few seconds, but not herself – her soul, her mind, her… What did the 'players' call it? Her 'expi' had not left the confines of her body.

The body was dead, but not the Servant. In other words, this Servant's life was not about the state of her body, her life essence was contained somewhere else. Medb was intrigued somewhat, some beings have contained their true selves in phylacteries, using their bodies as an external terminal for interaction with the world, so this was not an absolute novelty to Medb.

Technically, she herself was…

Medb dropped the thought, returning to the present, watching the mutilated pile of flesh begin to regrow the skin, putting the girl's face back into place – before she began thinking on how to solve the current problem. Her goal was to kill the girl, and the seeming immortality was quite a problem in achieving that goal.

Anything could have become a phylactery – the notion that only a certain kind of object could, or that it must be an object in the first place, become a phylactery was fundamentally wrong. To be 'immortal until he crosses three rivers', 'until the Sun rises from the West', or until 'he fulfills his father's duty to the seven tribes of the sons of his enemies' also could keep 'expi' safe. In what could be called a 'phylactery', not a physical object but a specific condition, time, or place of action instead.

In other words – the opponent in front of her could be, technically speaking, unkillable to Medb. She was not specialized in gathering information or possessing brute force or special abilities, like Ainz, to forcibly kill the Servant before her or disrupt the phylactery.

"Annoying…" Medb grumbled slightly. The Servant could not defeat her, but neither could Medb destroy the Servant. In other words, it was a stalemate – the most annoying situation of all.

For all her power, Medb could not solve the problem before her, to deal with her adversary to the end. And Medb did not like problems that she could not deal with.

After all, what would Ainz think if she saw that Medb wasn't capable of dealing with such a weak enemy! Ainz had already seen Medb at the bottom of her life, and had personally helped her overcome her weakness. He had lifted her up on a pedestal again, making Medb inwardly vow never to let Ainz question her strength and capabilities as a ruler.

She definitely didn't want to let his gift go to waste!

So Medb, looking at the seemingly immortal Servant before her, felt her irritation quickly wash away the sympathy that came from looking into the eyes of the tired, submissive Servant.

"You're quite annoying." Medb remarked simply, as she looked at the pitiful Servant, her expression not at all befitting someone that had returned from Death. Or perhaps quite befitting, if this wasn't her first time being revived.

Whatever it is her expression would sport next, Medb didn't care, she would at least be magnanimous enough to give the girl her eternal rest. Several hands, not at all as huge as the one before, rose from the ground, seeking to dig into the Servant's legs and topple her, possibly dragging her under the desert sand. But this time, the Servant was ready for such an attack, darting away with the speed and agility one would only expect from the highest ranked and most powerful of Servants.

"At the command of my king, I bid you surrender to the mercy of her court. A just sentence will be placed upon you." Ignoring Medb's words completely, the Servant darted away from her next attack before a disproportionately large spear, seemingly created of magic and technology. A spear, which looked like an ancient occult artifact and a missile with a pointed tip on a stick, glinted in her hand.

Despite the tiredness in her eye, the Servant moved with alarming alacrity.

"So you demand my surrender for a trial, but the verdict is already known?" Medb asked, not counting on any answer. Judging by the dead look in the Servant's eyes, and the way she acted, uttering her memorized, emotionless speech, the Servant was not listening to Medb. It was unlikely that she even had room in her mind for any thought at all, except to analyze combat situations and repeat her memorized phrases like a broken tape recorder repeating the same words.

"I guarantee you a fair trial in the name of my king and my goddess – lay down your arms and face your sentence with dignity." The servant uttered with a dead tone once more, before lunging forward to pierce Medb with her spear. It seems that, by her actions, a death sentence was fine too.

A warrior with a shield of emerald brilliance and brass, rising from the ground, took the blow, though the shield cracked a moment later. The Servant's spear accelerator, evidencing its rocket-like nature, exploded, shattering the creature's shield and slamming the point of the spear into his chest, sending the warrior flying a moment later. But the creature had done its job, stopping the Servant's charge.

But no emotion flashed across the Servant's face, no joy, no surprise, no rage – like a mannequin, the Servant's expression did not change at all, nor did the tone of her voice. "I swear this on my name and pride as a Knight of a Round Table, sir Gareth, that you'll be treated fairly."

"Gareth, hmm?" Medb was only interested in the name of the Servant before her, paying no attention to the message of her speech.

'A Knight of Arthur, then – the younger brother of Gawain, the younger sister, in this case, the niece of King Arthur. The first victim of Lancelot's madness, who she squired under.' Medb creased her face slightly and lowered one eyebrow involuntarily at the memory of the taciturn King.

'I've always disliked Arthur, and he could never tolerate me… Though, what else would you expect from Titania's favorite pup?'

In the past world, the Gareth that Medb knew was a weak knight. Though formally called a part of the 'Knight of the Round Table', it was a more of a common term rather than an official position. Gareth was not a member of the Twelve Knights of Camelot, the clique of the most powerful and loyal of knights. Excluding all the fiascoes with Mordred and Lancelot, that is.

They were close associates of King Arthur, the 'First Knight', while Gareth was only Lancelot's squire. Gareth was not strong like, despite her position as one of the Knights of the Round Table. Even the weakest of them would have no problem fighting Gareth, even with one arm tied behind their backs.

But when not comparing him with those 'distinguished' knights, but with other knights, Gareth was far stronger than any mere knight. Definitely several heads above any squire, to the point where comparing them with each other was meaningless and simply stupid.

This Gareth though…? It was hard to judge at this point whether the Gareth of this world was stronger than the Gareth that Medb knew. Judging only by physical characteristics, the Servant before Medb was superior to that Gareth. The question of ability, however, was still up in the air.

On the other hand, possessing some sort of immortality, without a clear way of bypassing it, greatly increased the level of danger the Servant represented and Medb's evaluation of her. It also greatly increased her annoyance with the Servant that is currently once again charging her.

A moment later, Sita's arrow was within inches of Gareth's face, but she dodged it with no problem, not even seeming to notice the presence of another opponent on the battlefield. The following spells from Nitocris, that smashed into Gareth's back who was covered with full steel armor, didn't even make Gareth turn around.

Gareth's eyes were only on Medb. Whether it was because she knew that only Medb represented a danger to her, or because she had determined that Medb was the leader of the group, was hard to tell. Gareth's gaze was just as dead, and like she saw almost nothing in front of her. It was like a mindless robot turning its head at the sound it's capable of picking up, without realizing exactly why it's doing it, obeying only the program programmed into it.

A moment later, Gareth finally had to retreat, evading the strike of a warrior armed with a massive two-handed sword that appeared before her eyes, allowing Medb to lean back. Medb lazily lounged on the throne that had appeared where she fell, a move done so smoothly, as if he had done the same move hundreds of times before.

Once Medb was on her throne, one as if carved out of a single green crystal shimmering in all the colors of the rainbow, multiple spears appeared below where Gareth landed after dodging the warrior's strike. Unbidden, faster than Gareth could have responded, the spears severed her joints and ligaments with surgical precision.

Medb didn't know the condition that triggered Gareth's revival ability, but Medb had learned from the best, from Ainz. And so she knew that being able to recover from a bloody mince in a few seconds didn't mean being able to repair all the specifically damaged critical nodes of action of her musculoskeletal system in those same seconds. Not to mention that such actions might have required an expenditure of strength, or might not have been available on a permanent basis…

'Culdown', as the Players called it.

Gareth's body hung in the air for a moment, as if she were a butterfly nailed to a board by pins, while Sita's arrow slammed into the open visor of Gareth's helmet. Sita's arrows penetrating one of Gareth's eyes, destroying her eye socket and skull wall, entering precisely into her brain and making Gareth twitch reflexively one last time before she goes limp.

Medb waited a second, staring as the Servant lifelessly hung on the illusory but still so sharp stakes, before she turned her gaze to Sita. Who, not trusting Gareth's sudden mortality, a moment later placed a new arrow on her bowstring, and drove that shot into the Servant's other eye.

Medb then shifted her gaze to Nitocris, who was clearly trying to look away from the horrifying sight before her. But was seemingly forced to keep an eye on the visceral sight of the two arrowheads sticking out of the Servant's eyes. She was clearly uncomfortable from watching such a scene, and yet morbidly interested at the same time.

'Rookie' Medb gave Nitocris a brief assessment before looking at Gareth again, whose body was starting to twitch again. 'She's not dead… But recovery takes longer this time than last.'

Seconds later, when Nitocris clearly wanted to question Gareth's condition, her body twitched, tearing her limbs from Medb's stakes with shards of bone and scraps of meat. While the arrows that pierced her head burst from her head with a disgusting sound, falling softly to the blood-soaked sand.

"Very annoying." Medb's face creased slightly as she stared at the knight's spasming, reviving body.

"BUDDHA!" An unfamiliar voice suddenly resounded out of nowhere, forcing Medb to tear her eyes away from the reviving Gareth to the source of the voice. It seems that, distracted by her battle with Gareth, she had become completely oblivious to her surroundings. A failing for sure, but fighting skills were not exactly Medb's strong point.

"PUNCH!"

A moment later a huge hand, woven of golden light, slammed into the convulsing body of the dead-yet-not-dead Servant, making her fly like a cannonball to the distance. She flew so far away, so quickly, that it was difficult for Medb to follow its path as it disappeared into one of the distant sand dunes, before being buried in the sands. Seeing that he had lost sight of Gareth, Medb shifted her gaze to the one who had punched Gareth.

It was a short girl with long brown hair, dressed in what one could only stretch to call the garb of a Buddhist monk, over it she wore a yellow cloak, while holding a strange staff in her hand. She smiled with a slight proud smirk, while her pale eyes wandered over the faces of Nitocris, Medb, and Sita, as if a child were proudly showing their handiwork. 'Well, how do you like me?' her expression seems to be saying.

Medb shifted her gaze from the strangely garbed Servant, to the Assassin girl whom Medb herself had accidentally saved from the knights' attack, before sighing. "I saved an Assassin and was punished for it, forced to now entertain a disciple of one of the Buddhas… Indeed, no good deed goes unpunished."

---

Mashu was staring intently into Bedivere's back, as if trying to discover Galahad's hitherto undiscovered ability to read the minds and memories of people just by staring at them. Much to Galahad's displeasure, that is, forced to look through Mashu's eyes and hear her endless and barely shifting internal monologue, and nervousness. Unable to bear it any further, the spirit simply offered the obvious solution, to his host's conundrum. 'Just go and ask him!'

"What?!" Mashu was momentarily distracted from her futile effort of discovering her latent psychic potential, instantly rolling her eyes slightly reflexively at Galahad's idea. It was as if she was trying to look into Galahad's eyes, who were trapped inside her head, before realizing that doing so just makes it look like she had suffered a stroke. "No way! That would be rude!"

'What's rude about honestly admitting that you were distracted by outside thoughts and missed some kind of heartfelt and important information that Bedivere had revealed to you a little earlier?'

Upon hearing the words he had spoken, Galahad thought about it for a moment before correcting himself a bit. 'I mean, yes, sure, it's a little rude, but at least it's honest! And it saves a lot of trouble down the road, and a lot of headache for me having to hear you fretting about it. What if he's revealed some important information to you that affects the Singularity going forward!? Wouldn't it be easier to deal with the problem right now, quickly and simply. Doesn't it sound much better than to try to play a game of guess what happened to Bedivere in a magical world full of the most incredible stories of curses, blessings, and who knows what else?'

"But Bedivere sounded like he was revealing some terrible secret about himself! I don't want to offend him by telling him that I was not listening to him at that point! What if I caused him to dislike me, or Ainz for that matter!" Mashu complained. "You know Bedivere, don't you? You were Knights of the Round Table together! So, you must've known what terrible secret he had spoken about!"

'Me and a hundred others. It's not like there were only a dozen of us, you know!?" Galahad sighed inwardly, disappointed that the simple solution seemed so far away now. 'I didn't communicate with all the Knights of Camelot – I didn't even know some of them personally! Our duties gave us a very limited amount of free time, and at different times at that, not to mention, the fact that we took different positions away from each other most of the time. Some even disappeared for some reason, while some would show up one day and be suddenly inducted into the Knight Order. I never even really interacted with Mordred much, or Bedivere for that matter. Bedivere had little contact with any of the Knights of Camelot at all, actually, he always stayed close to the King, as his trusted adjutant, a little away from us. So, I don't know him that well, even if we were, um, 'colleagues' for a while.'

Galahad paused to think about his words more, perhaps even surprised by the fact, now that he recalled his time as a knight, how little he interacted with his fellow knights.

'And that's just talking about the Bedivere I know! Not bringing magic, Singularities, and Camelot arising on the Holy Land into the situation, who knows what happened in that time. So, my list of assumptions ranges from things like that he got a mission from Root to exterminate evil in this world to an account of how much he values knightly honor. Either that, or he had succumbed to Merlin's inane ideas and embraced his true nature as a princess, causing him to try a dress he had suddenly fancied! Any assumption of mine would be completely random!' Galahad mentally shrugged, causing Mashu to strain her imagination a little, trying to convey to her co-pilot the feeling of Mashu looking intently into his nonexistent eyes before giving up.

"Okay, I get it!" Mashu sighed, defeated, before trying to square herself off a little, as if preparing herself to ask Bedivere something outrageous. "Do you think he will take offense to me asking him to repeat his, very likely to be personal, information?"

'No idea, but he's always seemed like a soft and calm guy to me, so he shouldn't.' Galahad tried to give Mashu a little confidence in her next move, if only to spare himself any future headache. 'So go for it!'

Mashu breathed in deeply, to gather her courage, before suddenly realized that she had lost track of Bedivere in her internal monologue with Galahad. Looking around, trying to find the feminine-looking man, who was previously aimlessly hanging around the settlement, among the sparse stream of refugees rushing about. Suddenly, her gaze was caught by the figure of Administrator, hurrying at the moment toward Mashu.

"Where is Arthuria?!" By the look on Administrator's face, he was in too much of a hurry to get close enough to talk to Mashu comfortably, which made him almost have to shout for Mashu to hear him. Seeing the panic on his face, Mashu immediately ran closer – Administrator was definitely not the kind of person who would worry about nothing and run around the camp in a panic if the situation didn't call for it.

"Probably on the other side of the village, watching over Camelot." Mashu answered clearly and quickly, immediately dashing after the Administrator as he hurried toward Arthuria, before she could ask what was wrong. "What happened?!"

"Acrobat is back, and shit is going to meet the fan soon." At once clarifying, and making the situation even more mysterious, not passing any actual information to Mashu, Administrator only hurried forward. "Acrobat has already gone, to make sure that the worst wouldn't come to pass… and that Bedivere – I have no faith in him, but I also have no choice. Beggars are not choosers after all."

"What exactly is going on? An attack?!" Mashu almost clenched her fists reflexively from these thoughts.

"It's kind of like that, but not exactly!" Administrator didn't dignify the girl's question with a glance as he continued forward. "From what he said, two detachments of knights had left Camelot this morning, and it's the first time that's ever happened, so we don't know what it meant. It looks like someone had provoked the Goddess into action – one squad went after the Leader, and it won't take long for her to be dealt with. We're next in line for being 'dealt with' after her."

Administrator seems to pause and shiver in fear at the prospect of fighting the knights, before returning to his hurried movement.

"The Second squad… We don't know exactly where they've gone, and that's another potential problem. For all we know, they're headed in this direction!" Administrator briefly outlined the situation to Mashu before turning his gaze away. "Arthuria's here, Bedivere here, and Acrobat here, too, so we at least have some fighting chance, at least enough to buy time for the others to evacuate."

Finally, the two of them could see the errant Knight, Bedivere, in the distance, talking to someone. Mashu reflexively shifted her gaze to the rather tall and thin figure of a man, completely hidden behind a black cloak, on whose face rested the same white skull-like mask as the Assassins. He was shifting slightly from foot to foot, standing next to Bedivere in a kind of nervous excitement.

Administrator didn't go for details or long talks, outlining his plan, while still on a brisk jog. "In half an hour, at best, a band of knights will be here with orders to slaughter everyone, especially the Servants. Questions?"

"Who exactly will show up here?" Arthuria, who had joined the duo of Mashu and Administrator as they arrived next to Bedivere and Acrobat, out of nowhere, immediately asked the pertinent question. The question causing Administrator to look at the now identified Acrobat, causing him to speak. His voice was surprisingly high for a man, Mashu thought privately.

"I'm not sure, I've only seen the leader of one of the groups. Her spear was unmistakable even from a distance. It's Gareth." Acrobat's words made the Administrator almost spit in anger, but Galahad's reaction to the pronouncement was very different. 'Huh, Gareth? That cutie?!'

'Gareth was a woman!?' Mashu questioned Galahad, causing him to roll his eyes as he answered.

'Does that still surprise you? Gareth was always one of the youngest of us, she was a charming girl. Fun-loving, outgoing, a fan of fighting and one that was eager to learn everything she could, while also being kind, polite, and open-minded. All in all, she only had one flaw.' Galahad sighed.

'She was insanely loyal to my father, which ruined her in the end. Really, it puzzled me, why did they get so worried about her? Gareth was a promising student, but nothing more, more a squire than a knight – she never equaled the other knights in her strength and abilities, not to mention her character. She wouldn't even want to harm a fly. The only thing I would worry about in the current situation, knowing that Gareth was moving toward me, would be that we wouldn't have enough food to meet her. She had always loved to eat.' Galahad gave out a brief impromptu dossier and his own opinion of the girl, causing Mashu to raise her voice in question to the rest of the Servants with her.

"What's the problem with Gareth? Isn't she a squire?"

At these words, both Administrator and Acrobat both turned to Mashu with a curious, confused look, as if they were seeing her for the first time. It took a while before they realized that she lacked important, pertinent basic information regarding their state of affairs.

"Initially yes, in fact, each time we encountered her in the past, she was quite the affable figure. But it didn't last – the Goddess gifted each of her faithful knights with great, and terrible abilities. She gave each of them strength, speed, mana, all the things that determine the strength of Servants, and assorted unique abilities – her so-called Gifts. For Gareth, it is her 'Wolfhound', she will not die until…" Administrator suddenly went silent, not because he had lost his train of thought, but because he currently lacked a brain to think anything.

A hole had suddenly opened on Administrator's head, killing him instantly.

A sharp glint of light in front of Mashu's eyes caused her to reflexively cover her eyes, however, Arthuria reacted in a more appropriate way, exposing her blade. The glint of light that had pierced Administrator's head, twisting its flight path, to pierce the Acrobat's head, and curved again, crashed not into Arthuria's head, but into the blade of her sword.

The impact was so great that it caused Arthuria's heels to drag several meters across the ground, leaving a shallow trench on the ground.

Blocking the ray of attack, the situation seemed as if it could go either way –either Arthuria would be overwhelmed by the attack, or she would successfully block it. Then the balance was overturned as Arthuria overpowered the attack, deflecting the beam of light with a sharp swing. Turning her attention toward the attacker, while the surviving Servants heard a quiet, melodic ringing, as if from a xylophone, as the beam of light shattered.

"So, so sad…" The enemy Servant's voice was calm and melodious, full of cold detachment, as if the speaker were not simply speaking, but reciting a Greek tragedy, lamenting at the injustice of the world. "I had hoped for such a swift end for you, my King, but I must prolong your suffering… Oh, how tragic!"

Mashu turned her gaze to the man standing a fair distance away, the enemy that had killed the two Assassins with one attack, and had almost overwhelmed Arthuria. He was a tall man, with a white cloak draped over his shoulders, lined with white fur. With his long red hair down his shoulders, the man had a somewhat feminine appearance, but not one that elicited any feminine aura, but one for the heroes of love novels targeted towards women.

He was standing with his eyes closed, as if it hurts him to look at this world, giving the whole appearance of a 'tragic hero', right now experiencing the drama of his life.

In his hands he held what could charitably be called a bow, not that it looked like a weapon at all – only at a stretch. If it resembled anything, it was primarily a harp – a bow with many strings, serving not as a weapon but as a musical instrument.

However, as what had happened less than a moment ago suggested, its musical nature did not mean the weapon lacked any destructive capability.

'Oh, this guy again…' Galahad uttered slowly in Mashu's mind, tinged with a muted hatred.

'Well, Mashu, I have bad news and good news for you.' Galahad spoke seriously, lacking his usual playful nature. 'The bad news is that even without any gifts given to him by the Goddess, that creep is strong. With the extra power, it's hard to say if the three of you can take him down.'

"And what's the good news?" A shield appeared in Mashu's hands a moment later, as her gaze bounced between the Servant's weapon and his face.

'The good news is that you will help me fulfill a long-held dream of mine!' Galahad exclaimed excitedly in Mashu's mind. 'I've always wanted to punch Sir Tristan in the face!'

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 130: Realms

Ainz watched the clouds floating below the soaring castle of Semiramis, as he gazed thoughtfully into the distance.

'Well, if Medb hadn't told me that I had disrupted her plans, then I hadn't disrupted them, simple as that… right?' Ainz wasn't even sure if he was trying to calm himself down more at the moment or making up excuses. It was both he would conclude. 'I mean, even if I had interrupted her plans somehow, if it was too much, Medb would have pointed it out, wouldn't she? I mean, she'd at least say so, or at least ask for new instructions, wouldn't she?'

Ainz hoped and assumed that this was the case, but his non-existent heart was still restless. Even the calming scene of rolling pastoral meadows beneath his feet could not stop his anxieties from running.

'I mean, I understand that pointing a giant soaring castle toward a potential enemy won't go unnoticed, but Medb also understands that, doesn't she? And if she understands that, then surely she'd say something to me if I were doing anything wrong, right!?'

Ainz felt his stomach gradually begin to twist into a tight knot as his thoughts began running through the maze of his mind. 'Somehow, logic tells me that I certainly didn't disrupt Medb's plans, but my guts are telling me that I did something completely wrong!'

Ainz could no longer stomach the anxiety, as he turned from watching the slow passing fields towards Semiramis. 'It's all because we've been flying for too long! Your soaring castle is too slow, Semiramis!'

Not that Ainz seriously thought so, there were hardly enough flying castles for him to compare the speed of this one to. For all he knows, this one might even be the fastest! It still doesn't help his anxiety in any way, though. Even if complaining out loud might help vent some of it, he doesn't exactly want to mimic the action of his old bad bosses, eager to shout at their subordinates at the slightest slight, perceived or not.

His Emotion Suppression might suppress any outburst or heightened emotional response for him, but it just meant that most emotions would just keep broiling under his skin. His anxiety might not be high enough to trigger it, but it just meant that it would continue to bother him.

'There's just nothing to do! I'm forced to spend my time worrying about everything.' Ainz exhaled through his nose a little irritably, causing Semiramis, who had been watching him closely the whole time, to tense up a little, not preparing for combat, though, in view of the utter futility of such an action.

'What has Semiramis been doing all day in this castle, anyway? Actually, what does she spend her time on?' Ainz thought for a moment, looking at the Servant, who instantly tensed up when she felt Ainz' gaze on her.

'It's a big castle, of course, plus it's soaring, but it does get boring after a while, just sitting on her throne and admiring her territories, doesn't it? What did Semiramis do with all her free time?'

Ainz tried to remember what he would do in the brief spare time available to him outside of work before dismissing the thought. His only source of entertainment had been playing YGGDRASIL, in which he'd completed quests, collected materials, shoot the breeze with friends, upgraded his equipments, tested new tactics, learned spells, and a lot of other things… All in all, there were many activities to waste time on. Ainz would clearly have died of boredom if he'd found himself a full immersion MMORPG set in Semiramis' soaring palace.

What could Semiramis do in her spare time, what could she do…

Ainz tried to imagine Semiramis and her possible source of amusement, but all he could imagine mostly revolved around either YGGDRASIL' activities – or at the various rumors about rich people's pastimes.

Semiramis hardly seems the type to enjoy driving expensive sports cars, visit brothels, or dine in expensive restaurants… Though maybe the last one seems possible?

Ainz gazed intently at Semiramis, causing her to first to try to stare back in challenge, before looking away first a dozen seconds later, acknowledging her defeat and feeling her whole being as Empress protesting over this silent humiliation.

Not that Ainz could tell, as he was busy imagining Semiramis behind the wheel of a high-end sports car.

'Well, I have to admit, at least she looks the part of a rich girl… Is it because of her facial expression? Or is it because of the expensive dress?' Ainz tried to analyze Semiramis' figure, lowering his gaze to her legs, then raised them, scanning Semiramis' appearance in his mind. 'She certainly does have the upper-class regal look down pat… Huh, do I really have so little to do that I wasted time doing such a useless thing? The answer is yes – anymore, and I'll just start watching the grass grow out of boredom.'

Semiramis, though, not hearing Ainz's internal reasoning, confronted only by the way Ainz ran his gaze over her body, as if looking over that for the first time since the moment of introduction, felt her indignation grow more and more. 'You, lecherous bastard… Don't tell me that now he has his eye on me too?! So it wasn't enough for him to steal my throne, my kingdom – now he wants me too!? No, not a chance!'

Semiramis almost made an attack, her chains rising from the mana concentrated in her castle, before she froze, stumbling at the last second. 'He has defeated me twice already… No, what if this is just another provocation! Does he want to defeat me a third time? To make me humiliate myself even more by turning me from a proud queen into a mutt only capable of throwing themselves at a bone thrown at them? Even when he had already driven just how weak she really is – does he want to beat any thoughts of betrayal out of me by defeating me in battle time after time? Ha ha, nice try, Ainz - but you can't break me that easily!'

'Speaking of which, she has quite long ears – I'd almost mistaken her for an elf! She certainly has that cool beauty charm to her.' Ainz, having absolutely no idea what was going on in Semiramis' mind at the moment, only continued to ponder some useless thoughts.

'Really, I don't remember any elven royalty with her name… Hmm, can I ask her now about whether she is an elf? It wouldn't be too personal a question, I think? I mean, it could be seen as an attempt to find out about a person's origins – even their parentage, and that might not be very polite, but it wouldn't be weird, would it? Just asking if she is an elf shouldn't be too rude. Okay, I should just ask… Wait, how did I even come to this point of asking such useless questions? Yeah, right, boredom in flight!'

'And now he's looking me in the face again, as if he's reading my mind…' Semiramis squinted her eyes a little, looking at Ainz as he scrunched his eyebrows a bit.

'Are you waiting for the moment where I'll attack you!? Commendable, but you won't get a wound on me so quickly and easily, You are not omnipotent Ainz! Even if you could defeat the Old Man of the Mountain, you will stumble eventually. One day it will happen, and I will not forget the loss of my throne, nor the loss of my kingdom, nor my humiliation! I'll get you then, Ainz! So don't try to play these silly games with me!'

'Should I suggest that we play cards? I think I have a deck of cards in my Inventory somewhere…' Ainz thought for a second. He knew a couple of card games he'd been taught by his friends in the past, but not to say he was a master at them, but he had played a couple of them with his friends… After a few moments mulling over it, he decided not to, Royalty wouldn't enjoy such mundane games? Besides, he'd probably forgotten half the rules by now, so card games were definitely out of the running for possible time-wasting activity.

'Ahem, maybe… Ah, I don't know, maybe just offer to socialize? I mean, from the looks of things, Semiramis and I clearly aren't friends, but she wouldn't mind just chatting with me for a bit, would she? If I communicate carefully, maybe I'll even find out if she's an elf or not!'

Semiramis, of course, caught the brief moment when a spark slid in Ainz's eyes, as if he'd come to some conclusion, or figured out a complicated riddle. And guessing exactly what conclusion Ainz had come to was not difficult, not for someone like Semiramis. 'So you're thinking the same thing, and aren't shy about the challenge… Hmm, what, do you really think you can outdo me not only in battle, but on the field of verbal battle as well? Do you think that you are all-powerful, that your own strength will be enough for you to achieve your goal? And what exactly is your next goal!? You already took away my throne, you took away my kingdom, you trampled my confidence with your overwhelming power, and that's not enough for you!? You are evil, Ainz, evil of a much higher order than mindless monsters and conquerors – you are not satisfied simply being declared victor, you wish to continue your assault until your enemy is destroyed… But you are mistaken. You cannot defeat me so easily. And as ironic as it is for me to stand in defense of humanity, if it is necessary for me to stand in defense of humanity in order to avenge my humiliation on you, so be it!'

"Semiramis." Ainz addressed the strangely excited Servant, trying to sound casual, but both participants knew that it was just a ruse. Really, what in Ainz's eyes sounded like an attempt to have a little dialogue to pass the time on the road, for Semiramis was a challenge on the battlefield. "Do you mind having a little chat?"

"With pleasure, Ainz," And Semiramis accepted the challenge.

So far, Ainz had no idea how dangerous, evil and ingenious of an opponent he really was in the eyes of the legendary queen of Assyria. And even if Ainz had known, he would hardly have understood.

All these thoughts of Semiramis and her train of thought seemed too complicated for Ainz.

So begin the most one-sided dance of wits ever witnessed, too bad one side didn't even know they were fighting in the first place.

---

Scáthach continued to silently observe the idyllic life of the city. Some were opening their shops, hoping to earn a little money for their daily bread during a day of trading. Some were patrolling the outskirts of the city, yawning desperately to stave their boredom. And some were trying to drown out their problems with alcohol, dispensing news of monsters and witches, while not forgetting to empty their mug of alcohol still stored in the cellars during the breaks.

In other words, life in the city could still be called 'normal' – as far as the word 'normal' could be applied at all to the current conditions of life within Singularity. In fact, there was no point in observing exactly what people were doing at that hour – not for Scáthach, nor for anyone else.

Nothing was happening, the city's life was going on as usual.

Still, Scáthach watched the city like a hawk, undeterred, as if desperately searching for a detail she could latch on to. She sensed, not as a Servant or a mage, but rather as an experienced warrior, a haze of unknown power floating in the air – some small erroneous detail that she could not quite grasp that would prove her suspicions, but… There's nothing.

Usually her gut instinct twinging meant the presence of some evil, maybe an evil god gone mad, or a monster from the Lands of Shadows – a black mage would fit that description to… The typical enemies Scáthach would face.

Normally, places that caused her instincts to flare like this, weren't worth examining for long for signs of black magic or anything like that. Simply because the signs would be so obvious, even the blind could tell. Scáthach was more used to the sight of mounds of collected skulls, the mutilated bodies of hundreds, mutated agonizing creatures, of pain and horror.

But Scáthach could not, no matter how hard she tried, could not find what she was looking for.

A secret occult ritual? The sacrifices of innocent children in dark dungeons? The mutilated bodies of disfigured women hidden with cloaks? In general, the usual things that follow such a sense of something monstrous floating in the air.

But there was nothing

And it annoyed Scáthach greatly because it didn't fit into Scáthach's simple logic. It was the same as discovering a family of ghouls a little earlier that tried to protect women and children from her! Or like hearing information that Ainz wasn't trying to destroy the world, but instead was moving to save it.

This was just wrong, it didn't fit Scáthach's understanding of the world.

Scáthach sniffed the air, as if a slight whiff of the air could tell that Jacques was connected to something monstrous, something that could truly and without any pretense be called 'evil'. But…

That thought never progressed further, it didn't move forward.

It was as if it was a random detail about a man mentioned in casual conversation, 'he's left-handed, drives a car, and is an avatar of the pagan god of hate'.

It was just… Wrong, in Scáthach's perception. It doesn't work that way!

Scáthach desperately wanted to find proof for her instinct to be right. Some occult rituals turning the world inside out, secret meetings of vivisects discussing experiments on suffering living people, a mad monster prowling the back of dark back alleys, but… There was none of that! It just wasn't there!

Scáthach stooped to the point where she began to look not so much for direct evidence of Jacques and her subordinates' horrible accomplishments, but for 'circumstantial signs of circumstantial signs'. Things like bar brawls, theft of provisions, and bitterly hurtful arguments that turned to insults of religious dogma and family relations.

And while Scáthach found many of such things occurring, it was just the usual amount expected in where groups of people gathered. In fact, compared to other cities, the crusader city was much more peaceful! People certainly remained human in all situations, and even in the face of the world's impending end, they continued to clash over the most petty things. But in the end they still found a measure for their conflicts, stopped before they crossed the line. Or, at the very least, calmed down under the influence of external factors, whether an invocation of God's name or a good fist bump to the solar plexus.

Scáthach felt… Irritation, certainly. Confusion. And some kind of childish resentment. As if for the first time, she was confronted with the fact that the lesson she had learned all her life was not applicable to all situations in the world.

All Scáthach could do was throw up her hands and say only a completely useless argument, which was hardly even an argument. "It doesn't work that way!"

Scáthach's thoughts, unfortunately or fortunately, however, could not change the reality of the situation – it should not have happened, but it did.

Jacques represented something dark, no matter how the Crusader was connected to it, she was undeniably tainted by something foul and evil. And yet, the ordinary people under her command and control not only did not survive through the horror – but they existed quite well off, in spite of it.

And while this blow, too, could not break Scáthach's will so easily, after all, and yet, it was still another blow against all that Scáthach had known for hundreds of years before.

"Ainz knew exactly how to make his move against me." Scáthach gritted her teeth at the thought of the great evil lurking behind her Master's human facade. "And he did, and now, even knowing that it was a weapon prepared against me… I cannot deny its effectiveness."

Scáthach had seen for centuries the horror of which the creatures of the Shadow Lands were capable of. Her mind could not be changed simply by showing only one or two beautiful scenes in which the creatures of darkness behaved like other humans or living beings. It would take thousands of such examples, centuries of confrontation, to outlast Scáthach's experience…

And yet, Scáthach could not say that such scenes didn't affect her at all.

Even if she knew that it was a manipulation prepared for her observation, a manufactured scene that goes against everything she stands for, the fact that it exists is still a great blow to her. What a wicked plan, Ainz! He knows that showing such a scene to her would make her compelled to prove its falsehood – and with every instance that she was proven wrong, it would be another blow to her!

In other words, Scáthach felt beyond irritated. Both by the fact that Ainz had dared to show her such a picture, by cheap manipulation trying to disrupt her mood and defeat her worldview. And by the fact that it was an effective tactic.

It was as if Scáthach had been caught in combat at the simplest trick, the simplest stunt. And as a result, while directing her anger at her opponent, she couldn't help but direct the same at herself for falling for such a simple trick.

"And the main problem is that… I don't see how I can respond!" Scáthach could grit her teeth as long as she wanted, but the people in the crusader city lived a relatively good life, relative to their surroundings. And Jacques, even when being an unknown evil, did nothing more villainous than simply to exist and feel like 'something evil'.

Scáthach could scrutinize Jacques and her actions, prepare for battle, try to decipher her mystery and search for secret plans all she wants, but she actually had no reason or opportunity to act! At least not in a way that wouldn't make her look like a deranged monster like the ones she had to deal with in the past.

She would not stoop so low as to attack simply because of her gut feelings! Doing so would make her no different to the monster that she had dedicated her life to putting down!

Scáthach appreciated her self-control, but under the current circumstances she could do nothing more than let out a growl with the fury of a beast, then head toward some training grounds and blow a few staged wooden dummies to smithereens. She had nothing else that would allow her to blow off some steam before she did something unfortunate.

"AINZ!" Scáthach roared with the emotions overwhelming her, but she couldn't just attack Ainz.

Even if she were to compromise on her morals, attacking someone who was sort of trying to save humanity at the moment would be the worst thing to do. Though, as much as it pains her to admit, she doesn't possess the ability to actually hurt Ainz.

Scáthach might not care as much about her reputation as a witch who had devoted her life to protecting humanity in distant lands, a being beyond human existence itself… But it still galled her to admit that she doesn't have the ability to beat Ainz. Moreover, one could argue that Ainz, who had caused such emotional damage by taking advantage of Scáthach's experience, causing an internal conflict over her view of the world, had drawn first blood. All without raising a hand, he had struck a blow simply by disrupting her cold demeanor and sober, logical calculation.

Scáthach might have been angry about it, but as long as she was angry, Ainz was winning. And the only way for Scáthach to stop Ainz from winning was to stop being angry.

And to do that, Scáthach needed to remove the underlying conflict in her views, to add the possibility of reconciling her experience and the current reality before her eyes.

There was only one way Scáthach could do that…

Scáthach felt the gears of her mind bleed with every movement, with every turn, as she adopted a new outlook on life. Through clenched teeth, she slowly uttered something that she wouldn't even utter while under the most painful of tortures. "I suppose that… Not all dark beings are unrepentant evil and an enemy of humanity… "

Even though with this admittance she had dulled Ainz blow, Scáthach felt as if she's actually getting closer to losing the fight instead of getting closer to winning.

"Ainz, you diabolical bastard!"

---

A beautiful melodic sound reached Mashu's ears. It was something between the sound of a harp and a xylophone, music suitable for enjoyment in an opera house, sitting in a plump seat and looking intently at the orchestra performing for the judgment of a sophisticated spectator.

This music might even have been called beautiful, if it were not for the fact that at the same time each note is played, a dozen deadly glittering arrows crashed into Mashu's shield. A shield she had hastily placed in the path of the attack, which turned to shards of later a moment later with a sad chime, bellying its destructive nature, almost knocking Mashu off her feet.

'LEFT!' Galahad's voice made Mashu, obeying reflexes rather than trying to comprehend what was said, move her shield, putting it out to the side to take another hit on her shield. 'FRONT OF ARTHURIA!'

Mashu found herself in front of Arthuria a moment later, holding on for dear life as each shot of Tristan's seems to get only stronger and stronger.

"So, so sad…" Were the only words that Tristan uttered, a voice equal parts full of bitterness and boredom, as if he was saddened by the action seen before him, but not the least bit surprised. It was quite surprising that his voice even could be heard amidst the cacophony of battle.

"Could you just move out of my way and let me finish this sad battle? Accept this kindness."

Despite his words, however, Tristan did not slacken his blow. A moment later, several more arrows slammed into Mashu's shield, making her involuntarily let out a light wheeze, before several arrows snaked through the barrier of her shield, curving their trajectory in an attempt to strike Mashu from behind.

Arthuria made her presence known as she batted the light arrows away, protecting Mashu, before she lunged forward.

Arthuria, possessing the highest speed and noticeable strength of the three, she seemed the most ideal option of all in this defensive battle. With her abilities, if she were able to bring this fight into a melee, Tristan, as an Archer, possessed no hope in winning.

Of course, this fact Tristan knows well, and another volley of projectiles, each arrow warping and changing their trajectory to find the best way to strike the rushing Arthuria, either to stop her charge or to just kill her outright. Mashu could have blocked the attack, but to do so, she would have had to get in Arthuria's way, which meant disrupting her movement, not to mention the fact that Mashu simply couldn't get to Arthuria in time.

Arthuria, however, was not at all frightened by the situation – though given her eternal, stoic, cold mask, it was no surprise.

Arthuria's blade flit upwards, a moment later, it was filled to the brim with mana – before her blade then exploded with a forward thrust, sweeping Tristan's attack out of the way. Her skill, Mana Blast, combined with the near-total lack of mana consumption limits from Ainz, worked wonders.

'Speaking of which – if you've been thinking about asking Ainz for help, now would be a good time!' Galahad reminded Mashu of an important feature, but she couldn't commit to such an action in time. Whether Tristan knew of her capabilities or was just trying to keep all enemies in his sight, several shots crashed into her shield, causing Mashu to divert her attention from trying to contact Ainz.

Arthuria used the opportunity in the lull of having Tristan's full attention on her, and approached the bowmen instantly. Another Mana Blast, and then a second, overcoming her speed limits, Arthuria was now at arm's length from Tristan, her blade poised to strike. The music spilled out in a crescendo, as Tristan thumbed the strings of his bow fully, to defend himself.

But, even if Tristan's attack reached Arthuria, her blade would still reach his neck.

"So sad." Arthuria's black blade lunged, intent on penetrating the Knight of the Round Table's body, Tristan unable to even react to the King's action. When the blade lunged at him, Tristan abruptly released his weapon before his hand collided with Arthuria's lunging arm… And snapped at her, his hands closing in a deadly grip on her blade.

Arthuria's blow, which should have easily passed through the Servant's flesh, stopped, as if it had struck an insurmountable barrier.

The inertia of the movement threw Arthuria forward, but Arthuria didn't allow the almost nonsensical series of events to distract her, almost immediately she found her footing and tried to leap away. Only to find that she couldn't move.

Arthuria's blade didn't budge, trapped in Tristan's grip.

The few notes turned into arrows pierced her body a moment later, causing Arthuria's expression to finally change into surprise, as a copious amount of blood spurted out of her wounds. A deadly wound to any other Servant lacking her great Endurance.

Tristan, as if to prove that his demonstrated strength was no fluke, easily tossed Arthuria, an outstanding Servant in her fighting power and strength, away, demonstrating the excessive strength not just for Archer, but for many Servants. Then the discarded harp reappeared in his hands, and volleys of arrows soon followed after. "I'm so sad that it has come to this."

'Oh great, so Tristan was equipped with Berserker strength for close combat, neutralizing his main weakness as an Archer. Great!' Mashu literally felt Galahad sigh in frustration. 'I don't want to be that guy, but I think it's time to summon Ainz!'

'I'd love to, but I need a second for that! And I don't think the Archer would be giving me that anytime soon!' Tristan's arrows slammed into Mashu's shield, causing her to dig her shield into the ground in an effort to allay some of her opponent's strength, using the ground beneath her feet for leverage. 'Any idea how to do that?'

Judging by the fact that Galahad didn't respond to Mashu's words, he had no ideas, and even if he did, at least he didn't see fit to deliver something as obvious as 'hit him over the head!'.

Arthuria, despite the grievous wounds she had suffered moments ago, rose from the ground a moment later. Her stance giving no sign that the blood flowing from her flesh in brief rivulets was reducing her fighting capabilities, but Mashu knew that even her steely will had its limits.

"Sad! What terrible sadness…" Tristan seemed to only repeat once again his feeling of sadness, as if it were the only word in his vocabulary. "Is it really so necessary for you to continue this sad fight?"

'I have no idea what was done to him, but he annoys me even more than usual now!' Galahad gritted his teeth distinctly, but Mashu could only let his comment pass her ears without comment, busy as she was holding back blow after blow, seemingly pouring in an endless stream.

"And it saddens me so much that…" Tristan continued speaking before he lost his train of thought, as he opened his eyes suddenly for the first time during the battle, turning sideways. Exactly at that moment, a figure hidden by a gray, tattered traveling cloak rushed from behind him.

'Bedivere, that's where he was!' Galahad managed to insert the remark as Tristan raised his harp bow upward, defending himself from Bedivere's strike, who by some unknown ability managed to hide both from Mashu and Tristan. A moment later the cloak was knocked from Bedivere's body in a rising gust of air, exposing his figure, his face, and…

Instead of a blade to attack his opponent, it's Bedivere's right hand that was drawn.

Only, Bedivere had no right hand, or, more accurately, Bedivere had a hand, a prosthetic made of silver steel or similar metal. A hand that was used to strike at Tristan. A hand which a moment later lit up in a light so bright that it made Mashu squinch in surprise.

"Airgetlam!" Bedivere's entire metal arm erupted in a golden glow, so bright like a small sun on Earth, before it slammed into Tristan's body.

There was a grinding, terrifying rumble, as if Bedivere's blow had crashed into a mountain of steel. Mashu had to drive her shield even harder into the ground, as she was struck by buffeting wind, as if a tornado had just formed not a few meters in front of her.

"This-" Arthuria's voice, however, reached Mashu even through the blaring sounds. Given the deafening rumbling, it meant only one thing.

As unbelievable as it was – Arthuria had raised her voice. From surprise, of all things.

The golden light continued to shine for a few more moments, each seconds of which Mashu felt through her bones. The seconds felt like an eternity as the Sun continued shining, each second heralding even stronger winds – before slowly the Sun finally faded.

Mash could finally make out the figures of the two opponents before her.

The first thing Mash found was Bedivere – his face was pale and covered in a cold, clammy sweat, as if he were shivering, and his whole figure was barely on his feet. While Tristan… was missing an arm.

Mash saw Tristan take a step back, then another, and another. Tristan's absent arm oozed blood as that man's tattered cloak rippled in the wind, exposing the result of Bedivere's attack.

'Airgetlam?! Why the hell does Bedivere have Nuada's arm?!' Galahad's surprised voice echoed in Mashu's mind.

'And that destruction was the action of Nuada's hand?! What the… Argh, this story doesn't add up, doesn't add up at all!'

"It's somewhat… Unusual." For the first time in the entire battle, Tristan did not mention 'sadness' in his words. Before with his remaining arm, he covered his eyes, an unusual action, such a strong deviation from his usual pattern of behavior.

"But it is also sad… I am sad, Sir Bedivere, that…"

After a moment, Tristan stopped speaking. He froze, as if in surprise, before glancing at Bedivere, at least that's where his head was facing. "Ah, so that's how…"

Then, like a doll whose string was cut, Tristan fell to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his back.

Mashu hurriedly shifted her eyes to the Servant who had attacked the knight, while Galahad only sighed unhappily. 'Well, looks like we have an anonymous Archer Club meeting here…'

Mashu's gaze was instantly fixed on the figure of a short guy with… Frankly, an unimpressive face. It looked as if he'd come off an Archer assembly line. He sported a simple, slightly disheveled dark hair, an unsophisticated face and a simple bow in his hands, with a simple metal breastplate for armor. Everything there was to describe the word 'simple', fits the man's appearance.

The man next to him, however, was anything but 'simple'. With outstanding height and muscularity, his turquoise-colored hair tied in a high ponytail, and with a huge bow that hardly even matched his height, over whose shoulders was slung a huge bale stuffed to the top. The other Servant looked far more colorful – especially compared to his companion.

From the look of him, he was the origin of the arrow between Tristan's shoulder blades.

'I have no idea who exactly these people are,' Galahad said as both a warning and a comment, making Mashu tense slightly in response. The fact that they attacked Tristan spoke in their favor – but the enemy of my enemy was not always a friend.

The tall man, however, unable to hear Mashu's inner thoughts, glanced over the heads of the Servants, lingering for a moment on Arthuria before exhaling loudly.

"My friend, I have to state… We are indeed lost for good! Argh, why does this happen every time this monk is trying to reach the West!?"

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 131: Secrets

'Mashu, talk to them later! Don't take your eyes off Tristan, one arrow certainly couldn't kill him!' Galahad's stern warning caused her to shift her gaze from the two Archers continuing to examine from some distance the battlefield, back to her potential adversary.

Beside Tristan, who had fallen to his knees with a feathery long arrow sticking out of his back between his shoulder blades, Bedivere was also bent over the ground, large drops of sweat rolling down his pale face. He was taking deep gulps of air, trying to get his breath under control as if he had just run a long marathon, occasionally shuddering and breaking his breaths as if his muscles were cramping.

Mashu's first urge was to rush to the knight, to try to help him in any way she can, but Galahad managed to stop her mental impulse at the last second. A simple reminder both that Tristan was not yet defeated and that Bedivere, right now, could not be hampered not only from overexertion, but from magic or curse or any other effect. The Noble Phantasm he used, if memory serves Mashu and Galahad correctly, was Airgetlam – the silver hand of Nuada, king of the Celtic gods and lord of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the legendary Irish Sidhe tribe.

How to connect King Arthur's mythology and history with other legends of the British Isles, Mashu couldn't find the connection between the king of the gods and the knight Bedivere, to explain the presence of such a Noble Phantasm. Asking Galahad only elicited the same response, he also doesn't know.

'Arthuria, too, is now drilling Bedivere with her curious gaze.' Galahad noticed the way, with his King's usual mask of impenetrable equanimity once again restored, even she continued to stare intently at Bedivere. Or, more specifically, at his silver prosthetic arm, an object not conforming at all to his legend, seeming to stop paying attention even to Tristan.

'I have a strange feeling that you should have told Bedivere about not hearing his story after all, perhaps it would have revealed his current cards to us… Okay, enough with the distractions Mashu, pay attention to Tristan!'

Mashu, momentarily distracted by outside thoughts, though Galahad didn't help in that matter, shifted her gaze to Tristan again. She watched as the Archer slowly rose from the grounds, and a red-hot thought flashed inside Mashu's mind. That she should not have stopped when Tristan was attacked, but should have finished him the second he was stunned.

But, if there was anything Mashu had learned from all the previous Singularities, it was that regrets should have been left off of the battlefield. She'd already made a mistake, there was no need to fret over it, the debriefing would take place after the fight. Now she should concentrate on not making that mistake again.

"How… Sad," Tristan, whose right arm was cut off, a result of Bedivere's attack, did not seem to let it bother the knight, even as the stump continued bleeding like a stream. Tristan instead turned his full attention to Bedivere, who continued to kneel, as if he was preparing to finish him off, but he made no move to do so. Either worrying that by doing so he would let himself open to an attack by Arthuria, Mashu, and their two new possible allies, or because the wound Bedivere inflicted was more significant than he was trying to show.

'He reminds me of Arthuria with that attitude – his current attitude with our Arthuria, I mean. He might be a Knight of the Round, but he was not that collected that he could ignore such a grievous wound.' In confirmation of Galahad's words, Arthuria, whose body was decorated by numerous arrow wounds, currently still bleeding like a fountain, also tried to pretend that the wounds she received were no more dangerous to her than a cat's scratches.

Though, from another perspective, they were. Thanks to Ainz's extensive mana reserves, Arthuria had probably already managed to recover most of the damage from Tristan's surprise attack.

"It is indeed sad to watch you suffer like this, Sir Bedivere," Tristan did not move, and his closed eyes made it extremely difficult to tell exactly where he was looking at the moment. From his words, however, his attention was still focused on Bedivere. "Such pain, all for the sake of trying to kill me. I'm saddened at the pointlessness of your attempt, by the suffering you endure for it – but most of all, to know that even if you succeed, it will only lead to the same sad pointless ending…"

The next moment proved to be the expected trigger, using his remaining hand, Tristan swept it through the air as the weapon under his arms resonated with the melodious tinkling of strings.

However, rather than being aimed towards Bedivere, the burst of the projectiles of light did not rush forward, but changed their trajectory into the few arrows moving toward Tristan by the other Archers.

Arthuria did not miss the opportunity. Rushing forward, though Tristan's previous attack had wounded her more than Arthuria would like to admit, the unstoppable deluge of Mana from Ainz meant that Arthuria was, if not fully recovered, at least ready to continue the battle.

Mashu thought for a moment about rushing toward Tristan as well, but it was difficult for her to match Saber's speed and destructive potential. And so, Mashu chose the right tactic for her, a moment later standing next to Bedivere, who after using his Noble Phantasm had only managed to rise slowly from the ground, staggering on shaky legs.

Mashu stood in front of Bedivere, her shield out, but since Tristan hadn't attacked her, she allowed herself to be distracted for a moment. "Bedivere? Are you all right?"

"I'm…" Bedivere paused for a moment, puffing his cheeks with air before he bowed, spitting out saliva, gastric juice, and black-red coagulated blood. "All right…"

Mashu, without even taking a closer look at the downed Servant, could tell by that action alone that he wasn't, but Galahad prevented her from doing anything else. 'Ok, he's fine – so go help Arthuria, Mashu! Tristan may have lost an arm, but he still has a second one – with Berserker's power at that!'

Arthuria, overcoming a few shots that had tried to intercept her, rushed towards Tristan again, this time careful not to let herself be open from another counter-attack by the seemingly weak in a melee Archer. Instead of driving her blade into the Servant's body with a swift movement, Arthuria dodged his shot, then used a mana blast to move to the side, then again, and again. Like a wolf hunting a wary prey, Arthuria tried her best to get to Tristan's back and to distract him by her rapid movements.

Mashu joined the fray a moment later. Not possessing Arthuria's blade, Mashu used the best tactic she could think of – Tristan barely had time to notice the large shield-covered shadow darting toward him.

'I never thought I'd perform a body slam when in a teenage girl's body!' Galahad's words sank in as Tristan, assessing the threat in front of him, tried to dash to the side, firing several more glittering arrows in Mashu's direction – all useless, given that Mashu was completely shielded as she moved.

Tristan failed to evade, hemmed in as he was by Arthuria and pressured by Mashu, he missed the moment when Arthuria decided to join in to the attack. This time, instead of trying to end the fight with one blow, she chose to hobble Tristan instead. Aiming for his leg, Arthuria pierced his leg, nailing him to the spot with her sword.

The attack slowed Tristan for a moment, but the small orb of destruction with a Shielder's class wouldn't have needed much more.

With a deafening sound, Mashu's shield slammed into the Archer. The attack would have punted Tristan like a thrown ball if not for Arthuria's sword forcing him in place. The force of impact instead caused Tristan to fold his upper body, almost bouncing off of the ground, with the crunch of bones informing Mashu that her strike had achieved its purpose.

Tristan's leg, pierced by Arthuria's blade, bent at an inhuman angle due to the tension before cracking, twisting with a loud sound, robbing Tristan of his second limb in the fight.

Arthuria, not to cause problems to Mashu, let go of her blade a moment later, letting Tristan's body fly backwards, dragging her sword with him. Before Tristan could fly far, however, she caught hold of the sword as Tristan's body flew, pulling it out, damaging the knight's already shattered leg even further.

Mashu momentarily became unbalanced from the impact, before she forced herself to stop to avoid falling down. She finally gained her balance in time to see Tristan quickly summoning his bow again, ignoring his increasingly scarred body, when Arthuria quickly leaped next to him.

This time her blade was aimed at the knight's head, leaving him no chance of surviving the blow, and Arthuria wasted no time disposing of her loyal knight.

Using her Mana Blast abilities to the full, Arthuria drove the black blade of her cursed Excalibur into Tristan's forehead, then even further. All until her sword entered the ground a few tens of centimeters and the sword's guard rested against the already stabbed knight's head.

It had pierced so completely that Arthuria had to kneel to keep her hand on her blade, and even then, Tristan hadn't died, but it was only a matter of time.

At the last moment, Tristan opened his eyes, a piercingly bright golden color, not much different from those of Arthuria herself, the alter version of King Arthur. He opened his eyes wide, looking straight into his king's eyes, his last expression one that is quite hard to figure out. But, if he wanted to say anything, it was far too late – he opened his mouth impotently, unable to utter his last words.

Arthuria saw the moment in which the spark of life vanished from Tristan's eyes, and he finally collapsed, hanging on the blade that had gone through his head.

Arthuria, in turn, stared into his eyes for a moment before she rose, pulling the blade from her knight's head, and shaking it off, spattering blood, shards of bone, and some brain matter left on the blade.

Mashu, after waiting a moment, and making sure that Tristan wasn't going to suddenly rise and continue the fight like a zombie, turned to Bedivere. He still looked pale, but could at least now stand on his feet with confidence, relatively speaking. And, while keeping her gaze on the two approaching Archers, Mashu approached the staggering knight. "I think you should sit down…"

"I'm all right, Mashu." Bedivere smiled faintly and weakly, shaking his head as he wiped away the dried blood on his lips. "I know you're worried about me after what I told you… but I can handle it. I can't help it."

'Now it's starting to piss me off that we never found out exactly what he told us…' Galahad exhaled, then suddenly continued as a sudden thought entered his mind. 'Hmm, that fight, that was too easy. Tristan… Why did Tristan suddenly lose so easily?'

'What?' Mashu, seeing that there wouldn't be another fight, relaxed her shoulder a bit, letting her shield down, as she kneaded her numb hands, the aftereffects of her attack.

'What I'm saying is that for a Servant with a Berserker level of strength, he crumbled unexpectedly easily from your shield strike.' Galahad shook his head internally in Mashu's mind.

'I'm not saying that he survived, there are very few Servants in the world capable of surviving a blade through the head, But your attack… If he had been able to withstand Arthuria's before, amplified even by her Mana Blast, how could he not withstand yours? I'm not saying that you're weak or anything, or that a shield strike is not an effective tactic, but for a Berserker? Most of them would at most have wobbled from your strike. Still not a bad result, but he was knocked down and thrown like a doll, like… an Archer.'

Mashu pondered the question hanging in the air for a moment. An Archer possessing the physical characteristics of an Archer was the norm, if not insultingly obvious. It was like being surprised that an Archer uses bows, it was that obvious. And yet, how could Tristan put up a physical fight against Arthuria? It was rather odd that Archer had acquired the power of a Berserker a little earlier, but to demonstrate that kind of power and then lose it a minute later was even stranger.

'Maybe he only got Strength, but not a Berserker's stamina and fortitude?' Mashu tried to give an explanation for the weirdness that had just unfolded. 'Or maybe was he bluffing, and this ability only works when the conditions are met? Or only for a short time?'

'Perhaps…' Galahad spoke out in a way that allowed Mashu to understand that he actually disagreed with her assumption. Before she felt a strange sensation, as if someone had sought to direct her gaze away, to be more specific, toward a panting Bedivere, moving gingerly as if his limbs had fallen asleep.

'Don't do that!' Mashu wasn't sure exactly what Galahad had done, but she assumed that somehow or other, he was the one responsible for the strange sensation. And, just as soon as she gave Galahad a warning, the strange feeling from inside her mind was gone, confirming her conclusion.

'I was just trying it!' Galahad tried to justify himself before employing a distraction tactic, when it seems Mashu was still going to ask.

'Speaking of which, we have two Archers approaching!'

Galahad's tactic worked and Mashu was distracted for a moment, shifting her gaze to the two approaching men, who, noticing her gaze, raised their hands to show that they're not going to attack.

"Excuse us for appearing here uninvited." The first speaker was a guy in his late third decade, dressed in such unremarkable equipment. It was so stereotypical Archer-y, he could serve as a plug in an advertisement, taking the place in the comparison between an outstanding Archer and an ordinary Archer. In the place of the ordinary Archer, that is. "It was not our fault…"

"The monk panicked again in the sandstorm, ran ahead, then immediately got lost, we're trying to find her." The second man, towering over the first by a good two heads, with a huge packed bale on his shoulders, looked around at the Servants present. He seemed to be not paying Tristan's dead body any mind, who continued to lie on the ground, but focusing on Bedivere instead, explaining briefly.

"To tell the truth, we did not plan to help you fight either, but I got bored, and I decided to shoot at random. I hit this guy." The giant Archer holding what looks like a bale of rice answered brusquely.

"My friend would like to say that we were glad to make our own little contribution to your victory." Unlike the tall, muscular man with green hair, his friend, who, by the looks of him, should have been named 'Background Archer One', smiled awkwardly.

"Not really, but eh, let's leave it at that," The other Archer clearly could have objected to his comrade, but chose not to at the moment.

"I'm too lazy to argue. To be honest, I'm also too lazy to look for the monk. Do you have a place where I could sleep? I'll settle for a stable, too…"

The giant Archer glanced around at the nearly empty village and its ramshackle buildings, then corrected his sentence. "If you have one here, of course. If not, I can just sleep in the yard."

Mashu glanced once more at the two Archers, neither of them looked like a bad guy or a potential adversary… And, they did help deal with Tristan, so they deserved at least a little credit for that.

"There's no place to sleep, and there's not much food or water, either." Arthuria answered before Mashu could, making clear her position and the situation the Servants had found themselves in.

"Well, supplies are not a problem for me." For the first time in their conversation, the tall muscled man, holding a huge bow in one of his hands, dropped the large bale he's carrying. And judging by the soft murmur such an action caused, the bale was filled with some numerous small things inside. The bale, Mashu would note, was as tall as her.

"I suppose I shouldn't even bother asking about if there's any alcohol?"

Arthuria, hearing the man's question, only replied with a cold stare before glancing at Background Archer One, as if trying to decide inwardly whether or not he was a threat. Then with a nod, she turned around without raising her blade, instead now looking at Tristan's body, which never began to turn into a cloud of Mana as other destroyed Servants usually did. "It's taking longer than usual…"

Mashu glanced at Tristan's body, then squinted slightly, hiding her eyes from the bright sunlight streaming in from the sky…

'Sunlight?' Galahad's voice suddenly made Mashu tense inwardly. 'How long has there been bright sunlight over Assassin territory?'

Mashu instantly realized what Galahad was talking about and for her to feel goosebumps at the strange happening. The wastelands, which included the Assassin's territory, differed from Camelot and Ozymandias territory in that there was virtually no open sky, with it being filled only with heavy black, stuffy clouds overhanging the black charcoal earth. The clouds hung so low, giving the impression that you could grasp it with your hand.

Raising her gaze to the sky, however, Mashu was forced to squeeze her eyes shut against the bright sunlight streaming from the now clear sky to the ground.

Moreover, this sunlight was not the usual glint of the midday sun, instead it was as if the sun had dropped below the level of the clouds, or a multitude of bright spotlights pointing down were spread across the sky. Which, instead of caressing their surroundings, just burned unmercifully in all directions. Instead of the pleasant feeling of the sun on her skin, Mashu could feel only discomfort from the light beaming haphazardly in all directions, blinding her eyes. Not enough to cause problems for the Servant – especially for her, a Shielder, specialized to withstand as much damage as possible – but it was still enough to be uncomfortable.

'This is not good…' Galahad's nervous comment didn't bring Mashu any new concrete information, but it did a pretty good job of piecing together her thoughts, causing Mashu to glance at Arthuria in mute question. Arthuria, catching her gaze, cocked her head after a moment, checking out the unexpected natural phenomenon herself, before lowering her gaze to the two Archers. "Do you know anything about this sunlight?"

The two Archers, pausing for a moment before looking around, only shook their heads and shrugged, causing Arthuria to turn again, and freeze as her gaze stumbled over a moving dot over the horizon.

Mashu, following Arthuria's lead, shifted her gaze, but could only see a horse approaching at the full speed of a magical being, carrying a rather large figure on its back.

There was no point in even speculating about the figure's identity and nature. In addition to the outstanding height and physical form, even at this distance Mashu could easily make out the armor shining in the sunlight, and the heavy fur cloak in gold and purple, completely unfit for either the shining sun or the warm weather around her.

'Oh, don't tell me… Shit.' Mashu blinked, for the first time he had known him, a note of panic slipped into Galahad's voice as he cursed. Something he hadn't shown even when fighting Poseidon or half a step from being killed by the Demon King. 'No… No. Oh shit, and in the full sunlight at that?! What the fuck… just our shitty luck.'

Galahad didn't normally use the flowery speech that a prominent Arthurian knight is supposed to, preferring instead to use polite but to the point verbiage. But for the first time ever, Mashu felt emotion disrupt his speech construction, causing Galahad to switch to incoherent isolated thoughts.

'Galahad?!' Mashu tried to call out to the Servant occupying her head, and finding that he had regressed to panic mumbling, Mashu turned to Arthuria for advice. "Arthuria?!"

Arthuria, however, did not respond to Mashu's words, continuing to watch the approaching figure closely, her gaze sharp and cold and her blade readied.

The slight sound of a bowstring being drawn alerted Mashu that the two Archers had not left the appearance of the unknown Servant unnoticed either. But, Arthuria instantly raised her hand with an open palm, signaling to the Servants that they should not engage in hostile actions yet.

'It's him… Ha ha, great, it's him. It's him…' Galahad continued drifting off into incomprehensible mumbling, like a demented ghost repeating fragmented scraps of phrases from his past. 'And in the sunlight… Ha-ha, what time is it? Ha-ha, three hours after sunrise, three hours before sunset… Midday, Ha-ha…'

"I was afraid to see him here." Mashu shuddered as she heard Bedivere's high-pitched voice again, remembering both that he had been near the other Servants all this time and that he had an unknown ability to drop out of Mashu's field of vision and attention.

"Who the hell is that?" Mashu could identify from the appearance of the approaching Servant that he was a Knight, so he was most likely another of the Knights of the Round Table. But trying to identify one solely on a hunch was doomed to failure, all the more so given Galahad's reaction, as if he had just looked into the eyes of Death himself.

'Knight of the Sun, Saint of the Numerals, King Arthur's Second Side, First on the Throne of Camelot and many other titles.' Galahad suddenly came back, interrupting the flow of his incomprehensible phrases with a stream of titles and a name.

'Sir Gawain.'

Mashu thought about it for a moment, trying to remember where in the past she had heard that name, before, as the memory did pop into her head, she exclaimed softly. "Oh…"

Gawain, another legendary Arthurian knight. Bearer of a sword equal to Excalibur, King Arthur's closest associate, and his body double. Though, more accurately, given the truth of King Arthur's gender, more like the one used for official portrayal. Lancelot's rival, first in the line of succession to the throne of Camelot, and potentially the strongest Knight of the Round Table. In normal circumstances, many considered him equal to Lancelot, and Lancelot in turn was considered the greatest knight of Arthur's.

And even Lancelot would not find fighting Gawain an easy feat, especially on a clear, sunny day.

Under the light of the sun, it was said that Gawain became a hundred times stronger, so much so that under the shining midday sun many considered him unbeatable altogether. And so, for six hours a day, three at dawn and three before the sunset – Gawain was an invincible knight.

In other words, depending on the conditions, Gawain could be considered the strongest knight in history, surpassing Lancelot or King Arthur himself. Maybe even the two put together at once.

With an outstanding Master, possessing large reserves of mana, and, as Mashu herself believed, thanks to King Arthur's magic, the one currently ruling in Camelot, Galahad could literally be called 'an enemy worthy of legends'. To put it even more simply…

"Oh…" Mashu once again uttered, quietly and internally, a ration which Galahad did not fail to support. 'Yup, oh.'

A tall man with a proper charismatic face, with his short, slightly ruffled blond hair, when he's fully clothed in armor, with a heavy purple fur cloak over his shoulders, padded with gold, Gawain looked the stereotypical Knight. In whose hands rested a prominent blade with a guard similar to a jousting spear or rapier, though far more massive. The sword, which seemed like a massive bastard sword to the tall Gawain, but would probably have been too big for Mashu even as a two-handed sword, approached on his steel-clad horse.

Moving unhurried and unafraid of the presence of the Servants in front of him, either not planning to start a battle – or, on the flip side, quite confident in his victory.

Mashu froze, unsure of how she should respond to the appearance of this new adversary, one even more dangerous than Tristan.

But Mashu need not worry, as Arthuria took the first step.

As soon as Gawain had come within striking distance, both to Arthuria and himself, she raised her hand in a commanding gesture, making a clenched fist. "Halt."

Gawain, however, despite all logic, obeyed Arthuria's order, pulling on the reins, stopping his horse, after which he glanced at Tristan's dead body with an inscrutable expression on his face as he looked at his missing arm. He then started looking around the battlefield trying to find the cut arm, though he wouldn't find it as it was literally atomized by Bedivere's attack.

"Sir Gawain," Arthuria took a half step forward before she gave a brief, shallow bow, acknowledging her supposed knight.

Gawain hurried to mimic her gesture a moment later, then nodded briefly at Arthuria's greeting.

"My King… Indeed, I should have expected you to appear again, especially in this form."

After these subtly threatening words, Mashu tried to position herself a little better in case she needed to intercept the knight, or for a surprise attack if needed, a move that wasn't unnoticed by the knight. Rather than any adverse reaction, Gawain simply glanced at Mashu, before turning back to his conversation with Arthuria, showing his back without any fear of attack from his opponents.

"I'll tell you the truth, I was originally sent here to deal with you."

After that, as if he hadn't uttered the threat out loud, Gawain only took a few steps toward Tristan's body, kneeling to take a closer look at the fallen knight. It only lasted a few moments before he raised himself back and turned around, revealing a deep wrinkle of contemplation between his two eyebrows. "Hmm, that's… Unusual."

When he lifted Tristan's body, Mashu had to force herself to stop before she could attack Gawain for his abrupt action.

No one responded to Gawain's words and action, so after a few seconds of reflection, he only nodded briefly before taking a step towards his magical stallion and throwing Tristan's body over it before climbing into the saddle.

"My King, I was on my way to you in full readiness to fight." Gawain said again, with a touch of sadness in his voice, as he looked into Arthuria's cold eyes.

"But there is a situation brewing that needs my attention more. The Hanging Gardens is on the move… But not to worry, after Semiramis, your turn will come, My King. Please wait for me."

After that, without waiting to listen to any answers that didn't follow anyway, Gawain drew on the reins of his horse, causing the horse to turn on the spot and return to where he had come from.

Mashu endured a few dozen tense seconds, as she watched the Servant's receding figure in the distance, before exhaling, leaning on her shield.

"The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, at this moment?" Bedivere, whose voice once again made Mashu, who had forgotten he existed, look thoughtfully at the knight and then at Arthuria.

"A surprisingly fortunate coincidence, just when we were in no condition to fight Gawain… Amazing luck indeed."

'Do you think we should tell him that this luck has a name, and its name is 'Ainz's plan'?' Mashu asked Galahad the question, causing him only to shake his head, mentally, in response.

'No, he wouldn't believe it anyway…'

After that, Galahad was deep in thought for a moment, before coming to a conclusion. 'But I think we should ask Bedivere his backstory now. I just wish we could do it more politely…'

"Bedivere." Arthuria's voice, however, distracted Galahad from his thoughts. "Why do you have Nuada's hand, and why does it shine like my Excalibur?"

There was silence among the frozen Servants for a moment, before Galahad sighed. 'Or well, you can just do that, too.'

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 132: Understanding

Medb stared into the eyes of the approaching Servant, she was walking with an almost bouncing gait, apparently extremely happy and proud about her accomplishments… However fictitious, they might have been.

Medb wondered if the follower of one of the Buddhas had an actual mind behind her sparkling eyes, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not detect any complex thought.

The girl seemed so sincere in her belief that she had just done the right thing, if not the heroic thing, that she should be commended immediately. Logically speaking, unless she possessed some esoteric ability to bypass Gareth's immortality, all she just did was give the immortal breathing room to completely recover, not solving the problem in any way. Though Medb could not destroy Gareth with any certain consistency, at least she could keep her in a semi-permanent state of inability to act, neutralizing her until Medb could figure out something more permanent.

But, instead of doing anything useful, the Servant instead chose to throw Gareth a few kilometers away, giving her the opportunity to recover her body in peace and escape. Not only surviving the current encounter with Medb, but also bringing her likely superiors information about her, Nitocris, and Sita.

In other words, the actions of the Servant, whose expression was glittering like polished gold at the moment, might even qualify as sabotage. But, judging by the unabashed proud joy splashing on the Servant's face at the moment, her action was purely out of stupidity and ignorance.

The Servant, who had finally taken the last dozen steps before facing Medb and the other Servants around her, did not catch the Fairy Queen's annoyed gaze. Instead, she began the conversation with a phrase she shouldn't have uttered. "No need to thank me!"

Medb only let out a little exhale through her nose at these words, preparing the deluge of verbal abuse that she would hurl to the idiotic Servant, before Nitocris replied from her side. "Thank you very much!"

Medb could only sigh a little more insistently at her companion's equal lackingness in the brain department, before she looked away from the Servant who had appeared, looking commiseratingly into Sita's eyes.

Sita only nodded silently a little in response, as if trying to cheer Medb up, conveying the simple idea that Sita understood and shared her sorrows. Something which made Medb shake her head slightly and, after some internal reflection, dismiss the thought of conflict with the new Servant. Much less a follower of Buddhas, these people were a special caste of hardheaded fools, instead focusing her attention on the Assassin Servant, whose rescue had turned into a chance encounter with Gareth.

The Assassin, a girl with ebonite-black skin, long dark purple hair gathered in a high ponytail, and black robes accentuating her rather imposing musculature, was also clearly conscious. And so, realizing after a few seconds of Medb watching her bad acting incredulously, and that her attempt to feign as an unconscious wounded victim had been revealed, slowly opened her eyes, looking at Medb.

For a moment there was a silent staring contest between the two Servants, each Servant seeing who would act first, trying to discern each other's intention. Before, with a shake of her head, Medb slowly raised her hand, the gesture of attack she had used earlier in her fight with Gareth.

The Servant, correctly recognizing the meaning of the gesture, rose from the sand, shaking herself off of any errant sand, showing her relatively healthy body, if only slightly burned where the fire wave from Sita's blow had reached her. As she stood up, she then rolled her eyes, obviously contemplating exactly what answer she should be giving Medb at this moment.

Interrupting the attempts of the other Servants and Nitocris to start a conversation, the Assassin shook her head in thought for two seconds and began to speak. "Thank you. My name is Hassan ibn Sabbah, Assassin Class, name is Leader."

At these perhaps too obvious of an identity, Medb digested it for a moment before she nodded. "I saved you."

The Assassin Servant who introduced herself as Leader frowned slightly, but she nodded, there was no point in her denying the obvious.

"Well," Medb nodded, accepting her quick acceptance as a gesture of goodwill and gratitude from the Assassin. "In that case, I suppose, our… surprise acquaintance and communication can end on that note."

The Assassin only raised one eyebrow slightly, not that information of a Servant's true name was worthless, but the value of such information was inferior to the value of her life. Considering the fact that Medb was simply much stronger, it would have made perfect sense for Medb to demand more compensation. And, furthermore, considering the fact that it was Assassin who had led the enemy to Medb before, it could be said that Assassin was more deeply indebted to Medb than it initially seemed.

So the fact that, under all these conditions, Medb planned to simply let the Servant go about her business after saving her life led only to three possible possibilities for the Assassin Servant. The first was that Medb was a remarkably kind and generous person, or was currently in a giving mood. The second is that Medb was too stupid to take advantage of her negotiating position. The third, and most likely in the Hassan's eyes, was that Medb didn't care about the Assassin, and the small favors she might do. Medb seems to prefer instead, at this point, to deal with Hassan's problem as quickly as possible and get back to her business.

Hassan, hearing such a blunt refusal, froze for a moment, contemplating this possible thought, but Medb was no longer concerned with her. She has a much bigger idiot to deal with.

Taking her eyes off the Assassin and not fearing any danger on her part in the event of an attack - Medb turned her gaze to Nitocris, Sita and, more coldly towards the new Servant before addressing her coldly. "Name."

At Medb's demand, the girl with a prominent chest, long black hair, and the uniform of what one might almost call a Buddhist monk, if a very fetishistic one, hiding almost nothing of the busty Servant's body, tried to smile. "I'm sorry, but my companions told me not to say…"

"NAME!" A commander's roar, totally inappropriate for Medb's frail little figure, made the Servant wince and stretch out in a soldier's salute like a frightened girl under the gaze of an enraged parent.

"XUANZANG SANZANG, MA'AM!"

'Like I've deduced, a follower of one of the Buddhas, a very prominent one even. But why is she so much of an idiot then?' Medb could only sigh disappointedly at the Servant's identity, shaking her head slightly.

'A Buddhist monk and protagonist of Journey to the West, one of the major Chinese classic stories and legends… Though, without her faithful protector Sun Wukong, Sanzang is not so dangerous, not to mention the general comparative weakness of Servants of this world. But still, a follower of the Buddha… I have no love for her kind.'

Medb adopted a complex expression as she looked at the frightened Sanzang, before quickly turning away from her, losing interest in her, and, in a way, showing her comparatively merciful nature.

Had Medb been how she was in the past, who was less merciful, she might well have remembered the actions of the Five Rainbow Buddhas and transferred the hatred of those to the Servant of this world. In which case, ignoring the girl was a far more merciful outcome than otherwise possible.

On the other hand, had Medb been even more merciful, she might have ignored the unfortunate set of circumstances, appealing to the fact that the Buddhas she knew were simply a vestige of her past. And being beings of another world entirely, she shouldn't transfer her distaste to Sanzang, who was not responsible for them.

But there was still a limit to Medb's mercy.

And so, brushing the frightened Sanzang aside, and the Assassin watching her warily, Medb shifted her gaze from the two new Servants to the desert where the vague outline of Camelot could be seen in the distance. Before, raising her hand in motion and leaning it to her chin, thoughtfully surveying the picture before her. "And yet, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon…"

The mention of the name of the Queen of Assyria's Noble Phantasm caused the Assassin to involuntarily shift his gaze to Medb, a slight enough movement that it was easy not to see… For other Servants, that is, not Medb, who was sitting on her throne at that moment.

Medb's gaze darted to the side momentarily and collided with that of Leader, causing her to freeze like a deer in front of headlights.

"Speak." It was not a question or a request, nor was it spoken loudly, but still Medb's demand showed off the full power of her regal self that broke no argument. She even thought for a moment about using a mind overpowering ability like her Charm Aura, but Leader was smarter than to bring things to this point, revealing what she knows a moment later.

Of course, Medb was still open to be surprised, stupidity after all is as infinite as space, and at even a single hint that the Servant was lying, she would unleash her full capability.

"I've heard that Camelot had become agitated and that the Queen of Assyria had made her first move, directing her Hanging Gardens against them…" Leader answered briefly, looking into Medb's eyes, before continuing on. "Having been informed that Camelot was preparing its forces for confrontation and was urgently removing the remaining obstacles in its path, I retreated from my scouting mission… And was discovered at that moment, with Gareth sent after me. You know what happened next."

Medb, hearing the information, thought about it for a moment, changing her plans accordingly. The actions of the Lion Goddess in this case were perfectly ordinary and expected, preparations before an imminent collision with the supposed Semiramis, in reality, Ainz. It was all perfectly logical and expected, the only question remained as to what exactly Ainz was trying to achieve by making this move in such a case. Was it going against Medb's original idea of gradually organizing a common united front against the Lion Goddess and destroying her at the moment of her distraction to prepare her tower… Or…

Medb blinked in surprise, then again and again, as an ingenious conjecture pierced her mind.

How could Ainz follow an illogical action? Naturally, only if this seemingly illogical action was only part of an even more cunning plan that Medb could not discern in her stupidity!

And if a plan seemed illogical, then the point in such a quick and seemingly unexpected reaction, meant only one thing. Ainz needed a plan that relied on speed of action. And that, in turn, meant that Medb's original reasoning was wrong.

She was relying on the fact that the King of Camelot would need more time to prepare the tower, but… If Medb was wrong in her calculations and the tower was ready earlier? The Lion Goddess was distracted at the moment. and Ainz's action was not an attack, but a provocation, following which the King of Camelot should have made a rash move like…

To attack and provoke the other parties to conflict, which is what she has begun to do now!

That was Medb's fundamental error, she was willing to wait for the most opportune moment to attack, while Ainz himself did not rely on fate. He himself created the opportunity for his plan and used it at his discretion.

"Ainz…" Medb covered her eyes for a moment, once again admiring her lover's ingenuity. 'No matter how many times I try to get close to you, I only see more and more how great the gulf between us is, and each time, I fall in love with you only more and more…'

Medb covered her eyes for a moment before she shook off her sweet obsession and looked around at the surrounding Servants. "We're setting on for Ozymandias, it is time to prepare for the storming of Camelot."

---

Ainz, as he continued to walk wonderingly on Semiramis' hovering castle, could only admit that he did not enjoy his conversation with her. His dialogue with her barely made it beyond blurred general phrases, but at least it could not be said that Ainz was straining much during that or on his chosen way of killing time.

The same could not be said of Semiramis herself.

When Ainz decided to distract himself and look at her after a couple of dozen minutes of rather awkward dialogue, Ainz found that Semiramis looked exhausted, on the verge of fainting and a nervous breakdown. Her eyes were flitting in all directions, concentrating on any objects that were not Ainz, while her pallid face was covered in tiny drops of sweat. Semiramis seemed to be trembling as well, as if she was feeling cold, though perhaps judging by the way she dressed it was not much of a surprise. But no, when he looked closer, which somehow made her trembling worse, it looked more like something between the instinctive fear of a rabbit frozen before a boa constrictor and the tense trembling of a marathon runner, pushing themselves to finish the race.

She looked scared, and yet determined at the same time. To do what Ainz could scarcely imagine, it's not like she would be telling him any time soon!

Seeing such a picture, Ainz was frozen in uncertainty. On one hand, he even felt a pang of sympathy for Semiramis in his mind. Even though Ainz and Semiramis had fought in the past, and thus Semiramis had tried to kill him, at the moment she was in the position of his temporary ally and ward. Ainz should have at least tried to show his friendliness to her.

However, after a polite, as far as Ainz himself imagined it to be, attempt to ask Semiramis the reason for her current tension and fear, she only continued to glare at Ainz with an angry look. As if he was somehow to blame for Semiramis' condition! He wasn't even doing anything, but just enjoying the view. As much as seeing the same-ish dune of sand was exciting, it was at least better than seeing Semiramis' expression.

Such a look even caused Ainz to be frightened for a moment that his passive skills and auras were out of control, which didn't help matters. Semiramis, who probably had no insta-kill protection either, was seconds away from an accidental tragic death, but Ainz's examination of his abilities left him bewildered.

None of his auras were activated. None of his passive abilities were working on Semiramis at the moment, and not even his equipment was active. And yet, Semiramis looked as if she was only one step away from going on a date with those afterlife gods she believed in.

Ainz even tried to show his friendliness and heal Semiramis' condition by handing over a Health Potion. Consumable items might be a non-renewable resource for Ainz, but he was willing to donate something of little value, like a low-level healing potion or a disease healing scroll, just to maintain contact and show his friendliness to Semiramis.

It's not like he needs it, or even could use it, but it still pinged his collector's nature.

Looking at the way she herself reacted to Ainz's offer, though, namely by twitching as if struck and looking at him as if Ainz had offered her something extremely indecent, Ainz finally tempered his altruism. Reasoning that if Semiramis was willing to continue looking at him as an enemy, Ainz himself should by no means continue to indulge her and her desires.

After all, if he, trying to be as friendly and polite as possible in Semiramis' perception, still looked like an enemy to her, then Ainz was not going to try to befriend her forcibly. After all, he had his own pride!

However, when Ainz, after Semiramis' suggestion, decided to stop conversing with her, suddenly Semiramis herself started trying to talk with him, now talking about herself, or trying to ask a little about him, the most ordinary things to discuss… Or at least the things that Ainz imagined being the most 'ordinary' in the current circumstances.

After all, in the world of legendary heroes and powerful mages, questions about past accomplishments and available magic, especially for allies, should have been quite ordinary, shouldn't they? Ainz, after all, could only judge these things from the perspective of a Player in a DMMORPG, where trying to find out your ally's past quests and available spells was just common sense. And from the perspective of an ordinary Earth dweller, where these conversations were likely a one-way ticket to the mentally ill asylum.

This, in turn, made Ainz wonder. If Semiramis looked so tense, if not pained, but refused Ainz possible help, and yet it was not because she did not want to communicate with Ainz, her current action had shown Semiramis did want to talk. Then why was it? Why was there such a difference when he was the one to start the conversation?

Ainz's unexpected wondering made him once again take a glance at Semiramis, and it made Semiramis herself freeze like a rabbit in front of a boa constrictor.

What if Semiramis was just… embarrassed?

In a sense, no matter how short it might have been, Semiramis and Ainz had indeed clashed in battle before, so some awkwardness might have been expected. But, Ainz had dealt with a rather significant problem for Semiramis, removing the Old Man and his fortress from Semiramis' territory, after which he showed her his friendliness? Even more, he offered Semiramis his help in curing her condition, simultaneously pointing out both her inappropriate appearance and showing in deeds, his willingness to be friendly… And all this after several attempts from her to kill Ainz himself!

What if Semiramis was just embarrassed by the current situation, since it really wasn't as bad as Ainz had originally determined it to be?

After all, she seemed to him to be a rich, rude and bossy woman, but what could Ainz really know about her if he had only known her for a few hours at best? Sometimes it took years to get to know and find out a person's true nature, in which case, Ainz shouldn't even have to wonder if he could have been wrong in his assessment of the girl. He could have, and quite probably did, he's no master in the social field after all, with his circle of friends being only fellow guild members.

After all, Cainabel had proven to be a tsundere under all her impenetrable armor of rudeness and cruelty, showing that she indeed cared for her subordinates. So why couldn't Semiramis be the same?

Moreover, it did fit with the idea that Semiramis was a good ruler. After all, it was logical to assume that if one cared about people, in this case thousands or even millions of people, Ainz wasn't really sure about the population numbers of Assyria, then she probably had a good heart! In fact, she was probably now trying to get out of the trap she had trapped herself in!

As a tsundere she could not simply apologize to Ainz, but she recognized the necessity of doing so, moreover, she probably felt extremely uncomfortable about that in front of Ainz, and that was why she looked so tense…

Ainz felt a sense of sympathy from this realization, before he looked at Semiramis and smiled in what he assumed was a reassuring smile, trying to support her. 'Don't worry, I'm not holding a grudge against you, I understand your feelings at the moment.'

Semiramis, seeing Ainz's smile, slowly began to turn green.

---

Never in her life or even since becoming a Servant had Semiramis faced an opponent so hideous, so clever, so cunning, and so powerful, so superior to her in every way as Ainz was.

It seemed as if he was greatly enjoying the torment he was heaving upon Semiramis! He was tormenting her, slowly pulling nerve after nerve out of her body, and yet always looking detached and almost bored, as if he were having a conversation about the weather, all the while weaving his verbal traps. A simpler person than Semiramis would not have sensed the traps in Ainz's casual words, but she was no fool!

On the surface, they seemed like meaningless conversation or an innocent way to kill time, but Semiramis saw the terrifying double or triple bottom behind each of the questions asked of her, and that was just what she saw. And as painful as it was for Semiramis to admit, in her battle with Ainz even she was not given the opportunity to see the true depth of his designs, so why would it be different this time?

Just imagining the amount of deadly traps that she had missed caused her to pale even further, only made worse when she saw the satisfied smile on the demon's face!

Semiramis watched as Ainz drew more and more answers out of her. When she tried to blur the line between truth and lies, to lead as far away as possible from the original meaning of the question, he seemed neither surprised nor annoyed by Semiramis' answers at all. It was as if he had no problem uncovering every secret meaning in her words, and in the end, having played with his victim, only offered to 'cure' Semiramis! Alluding that she was mentally ill when she thought she could keep Ainz from the knowledge he sought.

And then, having pointed out to Semiramis her weakness, he paused, as if to give Semiramis two choices before his eyes. Either he could continue to mock her further and watch as Semiramis, desperately twisted in the bonds of his words, only sinking more and more into the web of lies and deception. Or, he could choose the 'merciful' option in this farce of a 'friendly' conversation they're having. Either Semiramis would simply surrender and submit herself to the victor, or he would discard the mask of civility.

Semiramis decided to stand up for herself at that moment, she would speak up! At least inwardly. About how disgusting Ainz really was, that he was not unlike a barbarian, incapable of settling down after only one victory. No, instead he went on and on with his attack until his opponent was completely trampled, until he destroyed any possibility of resistance. He did not care at all about which particular field this battle was fought and by what particular weapon. Whether it was in battle or a verbal battlefield, he was like a beast that never stopped until it had driven its prey asunder. At the same time, he possessed not only an animal instinct, but an intelligence appropriate to its non-human status as a guide of evil into this world.

Semiramis would love nothing more than to scream out her defiance, to mock this destroyer in human form in front of her. But she could not.

Semiramis was trapped, forced to clench her teeth until they began to pain from her exertion, and to finally speak out her surrender, instead of giving Ainz another opportunity to wrap her around his finger. Semiramis was forced to act, at least this way she could deprive Ainz of a small measure of the joy of watching him defeat Semiramis again and again, enjoying her most desperate attempts to resist him.

And just as Semiramis was coming to terms with this realization, trying to find solace in the false thought that at least she had achieved 'victory' in the current circumstances on at least one front.

She noticed the cruel smirk on Ainz's face.

He was looking down on her like a defeated enemy, who was clinging to the remnants of her pride and the sweet delusion that kept her mind and psyche intact.

At the mere sight of that smirk, rage erupted in Semiramis' mind, primarily at Ainz, who had dared to deprive her of her throne, and continued to trample her whole being with such disgusting ease. The rest of her rage was reserved for herself, at how she had easily surrendered and been defeated by Ainz. That she had cast aside her pride and power as Queen of Assyria, now comforting herself only with disgusting weak thoughts that she had lost not as shamefully as she could have.

Semiramis tasted bile in her mouth as a wave of hatred threatened to overwhelm her. And this time the wave of that hatred was not even directed at Ainz, at least not primarily, but at herself. For her weakness and willingness to admit defeat so easily, content with the crumbs thrown to her by Ainz.

No, there was certainly hatred in Semiramis for Ainz, but it was weaker than the hatred that gnawed at Semiramis herself from within. After all, what else could she expect from her enemy? He was doing what he was supposed to do, defeating her time after time, and Semiramis could at least acknowledge this along with a certain respect for her enemy. Though an enemy, he was a powerful enemy.

In the end, Semiramis herself could not blame Ainz for her weakness, what else could she expect from her adversary, who never concealed his disposition, if not more so, emphasized it with his every action?

But worst of all, Semiramis realized that this, too, was only part of Ainz's plan. A part of his strategy of total destruction, until she herself was defeated on every front. In battle, in conversation, and even within her own mind.

But even after figuring out this tactic, Semiramis could do nothing about it. Even being aware of Ainz's trick, Semiramis could find no strength or ability to defend herself against the pressure. On the contrary, now aware of it, Semiramis felt only the devastation of having the small bit of victory in admitting defeat snatched from her hands as well. An action that should have served her well, allowing Semiramis to find support in the battle against Ainz served only as another blade entering her back.

'It's like a poison, one that is slowly penetrating my body and mind…' Semiramis could only chuckle at this thought. 'What nonsense… The oldest legendary poisoner is suffering from poison, all without it being administered… So this is how my victims feel, I do admit that I find it distasteful…'

Powerlessness, hatred, and suffocating, because no matter how you unravel the actions of your enemy, no matter how you fight with him, in the end the poison has already crept into your veins. All that remains is for you to live your last minutes of life with this awareness, feeling how your body and mind give up, how death approaches with each passing moment closer and closer…

Semiramis was poisoned without magic nor without the poison itself. The feeling that has always interested her, something that her victims feel in the last moments of their life, was brought to her without any poison, a cruel mockery of irony…

'Ha ha…' Semiramis suddenly grinned in a completely inappropriate style for her royal persona.

'Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!'

Semiramis grasped her head, feeling the brain trapped within the walls of her skull gradually begin to boil. 'This is it! This is it, this is the feeling! The admiration with which my subjects greeted me, looking upon the queen as a living goddess of legends, the piety and apprehension, the awe and hatred… But if this is how people were in awe of my person, is there a gap in the fact that a Servant can look with similar awe upon a being of an even higher, different order? Darkness or light, does it make sense to try to understand one who stands so incommensurately above you!? Have I not wished to understand what the lowly see when looking at unattainable peaks, and if so, is there any lowliness in looking in this way at one who towers so far above you? Ahahahahahahaha!'

---

Ainz, looking at Semiramis, who had suddenly stopped talking but suddenly cheered up, looking at him with a kind smile, was quite surprised by the sudden change in demeanor of the previously sullen Queen. Then, concluding that he had reached an understanding with her by conveying his thoughts regarding his understanding of her tsundere nature, only nodded, looking away, satisfied.

'Great! Semiramis has finally become comfortable with me… Indeed, there is nothing better in the world than understanding!'

The thought brought a joyful smile to Ainz's face, which only seemed to make the Queen of Assyria even more excited.

Ainz could only conclude that he had handled that social quagmire perfectly!

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 133: Truth about Excalibur

Until the moment her curse was lifted, the restriction of her cursed eyes, Medusa had always believed that the reason she was unsociable was because she was cursed. After all, it was perfectly logical, as a being who's doomed to forever hurt anyone simply by a single careless look, an errant meeting of eyes becoming something of a matter between life and death. So how could she become someone sociable? Eye-contact is one of the basics for good conversations, after all. Even if she were to wear her Mystic-Eye killer glasses, a simple accident can turn any situation very awkward, or simply deadly in the case it happened with an ordinary human, rare as that were in Chaldea.

And so, under such circumstances, it was perfectly logical for her to develop a love of entertainment that did not require the involvement of other people – reading, for example, is one such activity.

Medusa did find that her interest was quite piqued by the many modern entertainment systems mentioned in some of her books, sadly there's a dearth of them in Chaldea, along with the lack of people to play it with. Other Servants simply have other things to do, while the staff of Chaldea can be called skittish at best. The Servants that do have nothing to do, were either the drunkards that seem to have no other hobbies than day drinking, and she's not insane enough to approach Cainabel or Baal.

Reading then became her preferred pastime in this case, at least it was before her curse was broken.

The moment Medusa was able to take control of her cursed gaze through Ainz' efforts, she felt joy, because now she could finally get away from books and make new acquaintances, communicate with people, make friends… It was quite a good dream.

It was at this moment Medusa realized an important fact about herself, she in fact did not like noisy companies, not because she was cursed, but because she just did not like noisy companies. Seeing that her prospective 'friends' were mostly Servants who by default are mostly made up of boisterous characters, meeting new people and new acquaintances came to a quick halt.

For Medusa, this discovery was… Unexpected. But also quite expected. Unexpected because it broke Medusa's previous self-image of herself, but also expected because it did not change Medusa's lifestyle, on the contrary, it allowed her to finally accept her current position. She did not suffer for not socializing, she just did not want to. She was just happy to have the choice if she wanted to.

No, Medusa was not 'against' doing it, but she was not 'for' it either, she did not care for it for the most part, perhaps it was simply a remnant of her time on the island. Her attempt to socialize with Scáthach, for example, was simply because the two of them had been sent by Ainz together on a mission. Medusa wanted to find at least a minimal level of contact with a fellow Servant of Ainz, otherwise, Medusa certainly wouldn't have gone to Scáthach wanting to have a friendly conversation.

Likewise now, meeting Jacques was a positive experience, and a very curious, interesting one, but… Medusa just didn't want to develop that connection any further. Not in the sense that she disliked Jacques, no, she was interesting enough to Medusa, she just… Didn't want to do it.

That was why Medusa was sitting on the parapet of the castle, alone, with her feet hanging down the edge, looking at the rushing people below, living their lives as quietly as they could afford in the current circumstances.

Perhaps Medusa should have been worried about Scáthach being left alone. After all, being near Jacques and in her city filled with 'monstrous' creatures, Scáthach might lose control of herself and might say something that would make them unwelcome here, or worse start purging the inhabitants. At least that was before she could calm herself, concluding that Ainz must have a plan for them being here, and at least have some kind of contingency in case Scáthach goes on a rampage.

That was why, after a long search and a run through the entire city, Medusa found that Scáthach seemed to have come to her senses, looking much less murderous. In fact, she seemed to have been spending her time in the castle for hours, diligently taking the training dummies available to her to the test with her spear. Fortunately for those people who did use them, restoring them back from the scrap they were, the moment the Servant's power left them only unusable garbage.

In other words, with nothing else to do, Medusa found herself to be quite… in a tranquil mood.

Not completely, of course, given the fact that she was in Singularity, on a mission, and quite likely minutes away from the start of another battle. But still calm enough to enjoy the rare moments of respite, simply wasting her time people watching. The ordinary people, as ordinary as monsters are, walked about their business, fitting in with the strange landscape of the rather ordinary medieval Eastern city, even though everything else around it was anything but normal. It made quite the strange sight, a normal-looking Medieval city, surrounded by dried black earth as if composed of burnt coal, covered by a suffocating heavy carpet of black clouds above.

Second by second, minute by minute… Everything was tranquil, and Medusa was bored.

To be honest, Medusa would have preferred to spend this time with a book in her hands, but she had none at the moment. So, instead, Medusa just continued to stare into the distance, watching the river of people floating leisurely below her feet.

Piercing through the ennui, Medusa felt someone close in quickly on to her perch on the castle walls, causing her to shift her gaze and turn toward the new figure beside her.

Under more tense conditions, such sensation would elicit a combative response. Medusa would imagine that she would first throw her blade, before jumping the parapet, perhaps even running across it to dodge any prospective attack, and to gain some distance from the prospective enemy. Then and only then would she ask questions, perhaps it was quite paranoid of her, but she found that it's better to be paranoid than dead.

Besides, a simple thrown dagger represents no danger to Servants, it might even count as a greeting really.

Of course, Medusa did no such thing, after all, being in Jacques' territory, Medusa doubted that sensing another's presence meant the start of a battle.

As might be expected, Medusa's gaze instantly stumbled upon the sight of a short girl with lavender-pink hair wearing neat glasses with strict, almost office-issue frames. The glasses, which made the girl seem more like an arriving tourist or tour guide against the archaic castle, which ran counter to the girl's true identity. After all, it would be quite weird for the owner of the castle and town to be playing tour guide.

Jacques herself had arrived for Medusa.

Medusa thought for a reason as to why the leader of the town was visiting her for a moment. Before concluding, it's unlikely that Jacques had come to observe the beauty of her own city from above the castle wall like she was, so she must be here to tell her something. Medusa silently tilted her head, showing her willingness to listen to Jacques, and it didn't take long for Jacques to start speaking. "The enemy. Strong enough."

Medusa shifted her gaze from Jacques to the ground beneath her feet, as if trying to see who she was talking about, as if the enemy would suddenly pop out in the middle of the city. It was unlikely that Jacques could not have dealt with the adversary on her own, but it was also unlikely that she had decided to tell Medusa about it entirely by accident.

Jacques, seeing Medusa's actions, only nodded. "I don't mean to distract you specifically with such actions, but… I don't have the strength to defeat him."

That remark in turn caused Medusa to raise an eyebrow, and Jacques instantly corrected herself. "In his current state, that is. It wouldn't be a problem if I were to use my Noble Phantasm, but I'm going to save that ability for the final battle against Camelot."

Medusa only nodded, understanding the Servant's point. Medusa couldn't grasp Jacques' identity, but at least she was willing to believe that using her Noble Phantasm at this moment was a pretty stupid idea, just as using Excalibur against a jar of pickles was a stupid idea.

Moreover, Medusa had received information from Medb about the need to make an alliance and prepare for the final assault. And so, it was at least fair to show an ally who was to fight for them somewhat later, a willingness to fight for them at the moment.

Besides, it would distract Scáthach for a while from destroying the training yard, allowing her to let off steam while beating a dummy capable of dodging and responding with its own attacks.

"Will you participate?" Medusa waited for a response from Jacques to answer her question. Well, at least something that determined that Jacques considered them allies, not subordinates running her errands. Receiving it, Medusa proceeded with her battle plans, firstly, asking about the enemy's identity. "So, who is it?"

"That's a good question." Jacques smirked slightly, laughing at some private joke. "I think the best of all knights would do well against the mother of all monsters, wouldn't it, Medusa Echidna?"

---

If Arthuria's gaze could be translated into physical impact, then… It would be quite catastrophic indeed.

Bedivere wouldn't be quite fully dead, but it's likely that his limbs would be in a mess, the rest of him nailed to the floor, and probably be choked for good measure. Arthuria's hands were twitching to do exactly that, wanting to find out exactly how her confidant had found the glow of her blessed sword, Excalibur.

The current Arthuria did not possess Excalibur, instead a failed copy, one 'alter' version of the legendary King Arthur's blade. The current Arthuria possessed only Excalibur Morgan, a black, cursed version of her sword. It is a sword without its original radiance, without its original appearance, and without its power. In other words, it could be said that the current noble phantasm of Arthuria was nothing more than a forgery, a counterfeit of the very legendary sword associated by many with the legend of King Arthur.

Though perhaps even the original Arthuria, possessing the actual Excalibur, would still feel the same way she did, should she witness the same glow.

After all, Excalibur was not King Arthur's favorite blade, it was Caliburn. A sword whose deeds and even existence were far less known than Excalibur's, but that was all a lyrical digression.

The important thing was that the glow of Excalibur's light was so ingrained in Arthur's mind, and soul, that she was capable of identifying it in any of its forms. Whether by the glow of the blade's power, a reflection, or even a twisted copy. And so it was not even a question for her, with one hundred percent assurance, and without a second's hesitation, she could tell exactly, if not how or why, Bedivere had used the power of Excalibur.

There were many explanations for such a thing, Arthuria could think of a dozen herself. But, each of these explanations did not remove the weight of her gaze, directed at Bedivere, who, faced with the mute gaze of her king, tried his best not to look back, silently turned around, seeking support from his entourage.

Mashu, for reasons unknown, and of little interest to Arthuria herself, chose to remain silent, averting her gaze as well. Whereupon, without that support, Bedivere made a desperate attempt to find support in the eyes of the two arriving Archers.

One of them, the one that was a mountain of muscle carrying an enormous sack, only shrugged, clearly not intending to take sides before turning away. The other only smiled a little guiltily before turning back to his friend. "I think we're redundant here."

"I'd argue with you…" The other man picked up the bale with one hand and followed his friend. "If I cared more about such things. But I'm not, so let's call it that."

Bedivere, deprived of any possible support, shifted his gaze back to the road, before taking a step back in surprise, finding Arthuria bringing her face close to Bedivere's to the fine line between decent and indecent.

There would be no more delaying the knight's explanation if Arthuria had anything to do about it.

"Speak." Arthuria's voice, cold and unyielding, came like a whiplash that allowed no one to question her. It was an order, the sort of order that intimidated subordinates to obey at all costs.

Bedivere was no exception to the rule, and so, after a moment and a loud swallow, shifted his gaze to Arthuria. "It was Merlin."

At these words, Arthuria nodded gravely, as if that word alone was enough of an explanation. In a sense, though, it was true. Throughout her life, Merlin had always been an… interesting companion, and an extremely interesting advisor. Most of the strange events in the life of this or that resident of Britain were in one way or another the cause of Merlin's actions. Either by ignorance, by accident, or for something 'in' their interest, either Merlin's or some unlucky fool that gained his interests subject to great debate.

Still, as great a figure as Merlin is, and as easy as it is to brush off any event in the world with the words 'Merlin did something again', this time, the white-haired wizard's name alone was not enough.

"There's something more, something that you're keeping a secret." Arthuria stared at Bedivere, causing him to look away as if he were a child hiding a broken pot, then, swallowing viscous saliva, extended a silver hand forward, one that he had kept hidden with his white cloak.

Arthuria responded by glancing at Bedivere with a questioning gaze, and then, receiving no response, trusted her instincts, and reached forward, touching Bedivere's silver prosthetic hand.

After a moment's touch, Arthuria felt… A familiar feeling.

A slight tingling in her hand, as if from the warmth of the Sun, gathered in the palm of her hand. A familiar heaviness, wanting to break free from the shackles of the sheath, an almost sweet lingering anticipation of a faithful life partner. A moment so familiar and lingering in her life that sometimes it seemed to Arthuria as if it had always existed with her, from her birth to her death, and even beyond.

But the most important thing was how… Real, it felt.

It was not a facsimile, nor a replica, not the phantom feeling of a Servant accustomed to her existence, it was… Real.

Arthuria withdrew her hand, then looked into Bedivere's eyes, her expression unreadable. "This is Excalibur, the real thing."

Bedivere merely smiled sadly at those words. "Yes, it is. This is Excalibur, King Arthur's blade."

Bedivere's hand was Excalibur, no matter how it changed shape, Arthur could never confuse his blade.

But the most amazing thing was that it was not Excalibur like Excalibur Morgan, a knockoff of King Arthur's alter-version. It was not a Noble Phantasm, nor was it a magical construct.

It was Excalibur. The very blade of Arthuria. The same, real, physical blade that existed in the real world.

It was the real, original, the one from her legends, the blade she had wielded in life, Excalibur.

Arthuria looked up and asked the question that seemed to burn with flames. "How?"

"The same way I received it in the past," Bedivere shook his head sadly. "Then, in your last moments on that damned hill."

Bedivere sucked in a slow breath, then lowered his head to King Arthur, the very king he'd once served. "We haven't seen each other in a thousand years."

---

Scáthach was familiar with the feeling of irritation, but this feeling, nervousness, was unfamiliar, trained out of her in her training as a warrior, and then in her days in the Land of Shadows. And so, as she watched Lancelot approach, she felt no need to suppress any of her habits by running her fingers over the spearhead or by shifting her gaze from one potential foe to another.

Instead, Scáthach waited for the knights' approach with stoic calm, instead of futile thoughts, she assessed the enemy's approach, calculating the perfect moment for the first strike.

Lancelot, a knight with no equal, the so-called 'perfect knight', or at least the legendary figure described by those words. Named as the greatest knight of all and the only figure equal to King Arthur himself, his loyal friend and closest confidant. He was the 'Knight of Vivian'.

Perhaps the only person equal to Lancelot, other than King Arthur himself, was his eternal rival and adversary, Gawain, another legendary knight and his chief enemy in the stories. However, there was nothing unusual about this, this enmity was not born out of random encounters and not because of the similarity of the two potential 'closest' associates of the King, but from the events of the past. Lancelot had killed Gawain's two brothers, Gareth and Gaerys, in a moment of his madness, when information about his connections and tryst with the Queen was revealed to the world.

And thus their enmity was forever sealed.

Lancelot was later pardoned for his actions, but Gawain would not let Lancelot redeem himself and would not allow him to side with King Arthur in his final battle against Mordred. If that had happened…

However, Lancelot's sad story was of little interest to Scáthach in all aspects, except Lancelot's position as King Arthur's most powerful knight.

Still, fighting such an adversary was, for Scáthach, nothing new. She had met, fought, and killed many creatures, each of them superior in strength to Lancelot, but that did not mean that Lancelot was not a threat to her. In the current circumstances, as a Servant summoned to solve the Singularity crisis, Scáthach could not take advantage of her familiar battlefield, the Lands of Shadows, nor could she take advantage of her position in those lands.

Scáthach had to solely rely on her power, her experience, and one clear strike to set the record straight.

Scáthach did not overestimate, nor did she underestimate, her or Lancelot's strength. Her Noble Phantasm, Gáe Bolg Alternative, combined the stab of a blade, always aimed at the enemy's heart, with the destructive power of the magic sealed within her spear, it could kill any enemy.

But, for all the legendary nature of her Noble Phantasm, it still did not possess the power to instantly destroy any target in its path. There were many powers in the world, those that could block even a 'never-missing spear', and those that could even survive it. And Lancelot may well have been one of them. And to lose her spear for an attack that probably wouldn't work, was not something Scáthach was willing to risk in this fight, not even for a second.

That's why Scáthach waited for the right moment to attack, deciding to switch from the spear to the more practical method of attack in this case.

That's why she waited so carefully, tracking every footstep of Lancelot and the group of knights that followed him. Closer, closer, closer…

"Now." Scáthach said calmly, and the horizon lit up in a blaze of fire.

After all, even though Scáthach preferred one to one fight to other kinds of combat, it didn't mean that her runes couldn't create suitable snares for fleeing prey.

Medusa did not possess the ability to cloak herself, at least not on her own.

She did, however, possess an ability far more effective, creating a monster with abilities perfectly suited to fight any hero.

In the case of Invisibility, it was impossible for Medusa to create the perfect stealth assassin without first examining her target. After all, she did not know what specific abilities Lancelot possessed to make a monster that is invisible to his senses, but given Jacques' information, it is likely that even a simple enough ability could deceive his senses.

First and foremost Lancelot was a warrior, a knight, not a bodyguard or a scout, and so Medusa decided on a little gamble on the simplest of all the tricks' mankind has devised.

While Scáthach was left as bait in Lancelot's sight, Medusa and Jacques settled on either side of the trap, lying in ambush, sheltered by the abilities of Medusa's monster. The plan was that once Lancelot and his cohorts had approached, they would wait for the signal, the quite obvious signal of attack, an explosion. Then they would strike from two sides at once in the moment of confusion, closer than Lancelot could have guessed.

It was unlikely that even Scáthach's outstanding knowledge of runic magic could have finished off Lancelot with a single blow, but it would still cause a few seconds of confusion at least. A few seconds in battle meant a lot of time, at least for Servants.

So the moment the flash of light illuminated the scorched wasteland for miles around, Medusa didn't wait for the blast wave or the rumble. She dashed forward through the shroud of rising dust, feeling her perception mark the deaths of her opponents, one after another, another and another.

And yet the strongest signature barely staggered after the blow he had received, a blast wave and a cloud of fire engulfed Lancelot, but he hardly received more than a few burns. The main effect of Scáthach's attack in this case was to disorient him, which meant that Medusa and Jacques needed to act quickly to seize the chance they were just given.

Medusa's gaze could barely see Lancelot's figure, his white armor stained with soot and charcoal, for a moment, but her hands acted faster than her mind. A narrow, long stiletto lunged forward toward his open neck, and Medusa noted with her peripheral vision, as Jacques' blade headed for the man's face.

Medusa had no time to examine Lancelot's face or appearance, armor, or weapons, just as Lancelot had no opportunity to examine his attackers, but he had definitely spotted them. But it was too late for him to do anything, Medusa's and Jacques' blade were already moments from reaching him.

The only thing Lancelot could do, was to do his all to dodge the deadly ambush. Without an ounce of hesitation and panic, he deftly turned his head slightly to the side, it was not enough to dodge the attack fully. Medusa's blade plunged into his cheek instead of his spine, piercing the flesh, and Jacques' blade crashed into the side of his face, cutting through one of his eyes. It was a devastating blow, but not a fatal one.

A moment later, however, the effect of the successful attack was over. Lancelot took the small advantage of his position and clenched his teeth, grasping Medusa's blade, and jerked to the side, forcing Medusa to release her weapon from her hands without risking a fall in the direction Lancelot was moving. While Jacques was forced to retreat from the blow of the knight's blade.

Or at least she tried to retreat, Lancelot's blade ripped through the air with mocking ease before plunging into Jacques' hand, slicing it off a moment later.

The Crusader Servant, however, reacted with little more than an indignant hiss, picking up her weapon with her other hand and retreating.

Medusa retrieved her blade a moment later, pulling on the chain linking one blade to the other, forcing the knight to release her weapon; there would be no more surprise attack. Lancelot took some distance from the two Servants, and Scáthach chose that moment to join with Medusa and Jacques.

For the first time in their battle, Medusa could see the figure of the knight standing before them. He was dressed in white armor, partially covered in soot from the blast and drops of blood dripping down his cheek and half of his face, with a blue cloak continuing to flutter behind his back. The knight towering at least two heads above Medusa even if he were to dismount from his horse. And with his short, unruly blue hair, the right sharp, neat, and strong-willed features he seemed to be a knight straight out of legend, a figure fitting for the 'perfect knight'.

The only things that spoiled his image were the soot on his armor and the two wounds he had sustained. A punctured cheek that continued to bleed from where Medusa had recently torn a lump of meat. And a missing left eye that made Lancelot look more badly wounded than he really was. Medusa knew that, problematic as it was, the lost eye was hardly more than a nuisance to Lancelot, but it was still a nuisance that Medusa would take full advantage of.

In his hand, the knight holds a sword that was too big to be a bastard-sword, and yet too small to be a full-fledged two-handed sword. Its seeming disproportion, however, did not mean that its wielder could not use it to its full potential.

For Servants, most of the laws of physics were merely optional rules.

So when Lancelot swung his blade, dropping the severed hand and the drops of Jacques' blood, instantly turning into a viscous black slurry that immediately melted into dark smoke, Medusa did not rush forward, suppressing her instincts. Taking Lancelot by surprise at this point was a challenge, even for the three of them.

Lancelot, however, also did not make the first move. Even being the best of all knights, in a battle with three strong Servants, he did not feel confident, and therefore stopped for a moment looking at the girls in front of him. He would survey the field, and determine the best path for victory.

A tense silence ensued while everyone present assessed the situation… One that wouldn't last long.

As the lull in battle barely began, Medusa heard a young male voice from the side shouting, breaking the silence in the most unexpected way.

"EXCALIBUR!"

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 134: Story of Bedivere

Mashu shifted her gaze from Bedivere's face, to his silver hand, which Arthuria held with a kind of undercurrent of warmth that is rare to her, or is it nervous fear? Looking to Arthuria herself for that answer, who's seemingly in no less contemplation than Mashu herself, before giving up and asking her now eternal and constant companion. 'Galahad? Do you understand what Bedivere was talking about?'

'No more than you do, Mashu, but if it involves Merlin, then a headache is exactly what is most expected.' Galahad sighed, whereupon Mashu was forced to return her gaze to Bedivere, waiting for him to continue.

Arthuria, running her hand over Bedivere's prosthesis a few more times, literally forced to take her hand away, lest she did something unfortunate, raising her gaze to her knight, mutely demanding for him to continue his story.

Bedivere nodded slowly at the unasked question, exhaling before continuing to speak. "I… I am Bedivere. The Bedivere. The real, living one. I am not a Servant, nor a great warrior, nor a legendary figure… Just an old knight who made the wrong choice long ago and has been trying to rectify the whole situation ever since." Bedivere smiled, though it looked very sad, before stepping away from his King, who had become a Servant. A King that he had failed.

"I am still human. The same Bedivere who once was ordered to return your Excalibur and once swore to stand beside you, my King… The one who failed your final command."

Arthuria looked up at these words, a look that reflected a multitude of emotions so unusual on her cold countenance. Seeing this, Bedivere reached out his silver hand and pulled his cloak from his shoulders, hiding the arm once again.

'He… He's not lying…' Galahad's voice echoed, sounding muffled no matter how impossible that sound, though Mashu couldn't blame him, she was also very shocked, though she also could tell that Bedivere was not lying. As soon as his arm was revealed, the slight pressure in the back of Mashu's head, the instinct that's responsible for sensing the presence of a Servant, disappeared.

Bedivere… Didn't feel like a Servant.

'Your instinct is right.' Suddenly some quiet remark appeared into Mashu's mind from Galahad, 'He's telling the truth, he's not a Servant, he's the real, living Bedivere that existed in reality. A man who has lived for a thousand years.'

"On that very cursed hill, in that last battle…" Bedivere grinned sadly, then looked up at Arthuria, with a muted sadness, as if it was some old wound, one that he had kept in his heart for a long time, but one that is buried by time. "I fought beside you, devolving into even hand-to-hand combat… That's where I lost it."

Bedivere, as if to emphasize his words, swung his silver prosthesis, its silver luster shining even in the faded noon, and exhaled. "I was there, Your Majesty. I was on that hill, with you, in your last moments, I saw you close your eyes for the last time and heard the last order you gave me…"

Arthuria, for the first time during the conversation, slowly took a step back, as if she was struck, her expression now that of shock. "My last order…"

"To return your Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake, to cast that blade into the lake where you first receive it, to return it." Bedivere shook his head before he sighed. "And I accepted that order, I took your legendary blade, Excalibur, and set out on my final journey to that same lake… And I…"

After these words, Bedivere paused, his mouth moving, but no words were coming out, as if the act of speaking further was impossible, forcing Arthuria to speak in his stead. "You disobeyed my order."

Bedivere only smiled bitterly in reply, and yet somewhat relieved, as if the act of putting his worst mistake in life to words had lifted a burden off of his shoulder. "Yes, Your Majesty. I came to that lake, took the blade in my hands, made ready to throw the blade, and I… I did not."

"Why?" Arthuria shifted her gaze back to Bedivere's silver hand, as if to insinuate that Bedivere had not done his duty because he wanted the word for himself. "I never thought that you would choose to use such power for your own purposes."

"No, Your Majesty, I would never do that for myself. I…" Bedivere shook his head slowly, then suddenly laughed sadly. "I was stupid, and I wanted to do it for you. Merlin always spoke of how powerful this blade was, or how important it was, and how it would become an integral part of you. More importantly, how it would become your legend and that only by saying goodbye to it could you leave this world and I…"

Bedivere took a slow, noisy breath in before continuing. "And I thought… What if I did not throw this blade away? If it is an integral part of you, if your life would only end with the loss of the blade, then what if… What if you did not lose the blade? What if by disobeying your orders for the only time in my life, if I refuse to return it, then perhaps…"

"That I wouldn't die." Arthuria finished the thought, after which her face again reflected a dozen different emotions at once.

Mashu could understand her, on the one hand, her faithful knight had violated her direct orders and disrupted the course of history itself, the very legend called 'King Arthur' for his own desire, directly leading to this Singularity. On the other hand, that desire was only to keep King Arthur, his King – the Arthuria of this world, alive.

"Yes." Bedivere grinned mournfully before wiping it from his face and taking a deep breath. "And that's why when I arrived at the lake, I… I turned and left, along with the very blade I was supposed to return. I thought at first I had a good plan. That I'd done even better by disobeying my king's orders once." Bedivere looked away from Arthuria, visibly embarrassed in the face of his king for telling him how he'd disobeyed his orders and thinking himself 'smarter' than the king.

"I left the lake to return to Britain, hoping that Merlin might now heal Your Majesty. That you would awaken from your slumber, that the reign of the crowned great King Arthur would continue and all would be well, but I… I returned to Camelot only to see what was left of it. Merlin was sealed in his tower, no knight remained in the broken city, and a new monarchy reigned in Britain." Arthuria nodded without much sadness in her voice, as Bedivere merely stated the dry facts of history, things that she knew well.

"Yes, I know this well, so what happened next?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Bedivere shook his head. "The legend of King Arthur was finished, but… I did not complete the final act. I did not end it, I did not return Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake, Vivian, I realized my mistake quickly enough. It took me a week or two to become aware of how Britannia had changed, so I went back to the Lake to finally complete my order…" Bedivere stopped talking and Arthuria suddenly continued his story.

"But you did not find it."

"Yes, Your Majesty, I did not." Bedivere lowered his gaze, aware of his transgressions. "I searched, and I searched with all my strength. I walked through countless forests, fields and mountains, I could have sworn a hundred times that I reached the very place, many times. But, no matter how much I walked, I could not find the lake and I could not return Excalibur, which was now forever with me. One day, it simply burned my hand like a seal of my betrayal. And thus I received this cursed arm of mine, wandering endlessly to complete my task."

Mashu, hearing the story complete, thought for a moment, unsure if she had any right to intervene in the ongoing dialogue, before she still hesitantly spoke out. "Ah, why?"

Without looking in her direction, Mashu's question was answered by Arthuria.

"Camelot was the seat of many powerful and famous legends, the legends of King Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, the quest for the Holy Grail, the quest for the Spear of Longinus… And Merlin is arguably the strongest magus of the Age of Men. Camelot's legends, their existence, supported magic, the legends of this world enabling Mystery to flourish even past the age of the Gods, allowing dragons, monsters and fairies to exist in this world. However, once Camelot had fallen, the stories of the Round Table ended with Merlin sealed in his tower… So, then, how could Excalibur remain?"

"I just wasn't fast enough." Bedivere grinned sardonically once more, as if to ask, 'how could such foolishness have had such tragic consequences?' "I had time to put Excalibur back in the lake, to put a final end to the legend, but I… didn't get there in time. And the lake disappeared, and with it my opportunity to put Excalibur back where it belonged and fix what I could still fix."

There was silence for a time, during which Bedivere bowed his head, clearly not happy with his story and the fact that he was forced to share it at the moment. Arthuria also lowered her gaze, immersed in thought and trying on the possible situation she might have found herself in had she been in that very King Arthur's shoes on the fateful day.

'A thousand years of carrying memories and guilt for what he did… I can't imagine how much Bedivere has suffered in that time.' Galahad's comment crept into Mashu's mind. 'We weren't particularly close in life, but… Huh, give him sympathy from me.'

Mashu, not quite sure exactly how she could do this without turning the situation into an awkward mess, so she simply tried to catch Bedivere's gaze and convey her understanding and support to him in a mute message. Whether Bedivere had fully grasped the meaning of her gaze, Mashu didn't know, but with a slow exhalation, and a sigh, he looked up and continued speaking. "After a while, I forgot whether it was in the first decade or the fifth of searching, I stopped looking for the lake, but for those who could help me find it. Then for kings, knights, and magi, I sailed to distant lands and walked, walked, walked and looked for someone who could give me even just a sign…"

Bedivere paused, shaking his head, as if chiding his past foolish self.

"And then I realized that even if I spent my life looking for it, I could not, even as my body didn't get old. No matter how long I walked, even if my steps never faltered, I would not find the lake, I could not complete my mission. But even when I could no longer see the path in front of me, I was still searching for that place or anything that could point me to where to look. Or maybe even someone who could help me right the wrong I had already once done by disobeying orders. And then I found my answer."

Bedivere shook his head and rubbed his prosthetic once again, before looking at Arthuria, still apparently believing that Mashu knew his story. "I don't know how many years I had walked the roads before I got there… Where the body of my King lies. If I couldn't do my King's will and throw Excalibur back into the lake, at least I could bring the blade back to Your Majesty."

Arthuria raised her gaze to Bedivere's face with a look of surprise on her face before returning her attention back to the silver hand. Bedivere, catching that look, nodded slowly. "Exactly, Your Majesty. I could never have reached the Blessed Land, the Isle without Sorrows, Avalon, on my own… But it was the glow of Excalibur, my command, and the fact that King Arthur's story had not ended, that drove and guided me. I could not put an end to King Arthur's story, and having possession of his last legacy, the legendary blade Excalibur itself, I returned to the place where the legend says your body rests, to Avalon…" Bedivere, pausing for a moment, catching his breath before finishing his story.

"And it was there that I met the gardener of Avalon."

"Merlin." Arthuria nodded, causing Mashu to draw her attention inside and ask a question internally. 'Wasn't Merlin sealed in his tower?'

'Yes… And no. The situation is far more complicated than it may first appear, I'm not entirely sure how it works… And the only one who could explain everything accurately and unequivocally is Merlin himself.' Galahad sighed. 'Well, I guess it means no one knows it, because Merlin will never explain it. As I understand it and for simplicity's sake, Merlin is both sealed in his tower and residing quietly in Avalon, and let's leave it to that, since explaining anymore would just cause headaches.'

"He greeted me as I arrived and… And he told me what the consequences of my choice had been for the world." Bedivere closed his eyes, clearly getting to the most unpleasant part of his story.

"I had refused to return Excalibur back to its resting place and end King Arthur's story… And so it did not end. King Arthur did not die. To be more precise, I created a paradox."

Bedivere threw his white cloak back over his shoulders, hiding the prosthetic, clearly at this moment looking for any distraction during his story. "King Arthur died on that hill, and yet his story was not finished, for Excalibur did not return to its intended place. King Arthur, found himself trapped in a state of limbo, dead, and yet unable to die… And as I walked the world for a thousand years, unable to rid myself of Excalibur and retreat from the broken Human Order, so for a thousand years he existed like a spirit, without form and unable to rest…"

"Till the Demon Kings intervened." Arthuria nodded.

"Yes, until the Demon Kings extended their hand holding a miracle, a Holy Grail, and with it the ritual of summoning Servants was, opening the gates for Semiramis, Ozymandias, Jacques… And the disembodied spirit of King Arthur, who by this time had spent a thousand years in disembodied suffering, their existence intermingling with the other part of his legend. After all, this King Arthur could not have Excalibur, for Excalibur had been with me all along. I had broken the course of legend and the summoned King Arthur was at once the most real of all possible, for he represented Your Majesty, who never died, the soul of that same legendary king… And at the same time the most excellent version of him. For it was a King Arthur that was stripped of his most famous trait, his blade, Excalibur, and thus so many traits he was supposed to possess."

Bedivere paused for a moment, trying to find the words to finish his story. "Merlin then turned Excalibur into a prosthetic arm of mine, and gave me this cloak, to hide me from sight, three times. He has granted me stealth in battle, he has concealed information that I am not a Servant… And he has concealed me from the memory of King Arthur, who rules over the new Camelot. He has concealed information about what happened and that I still possess Excalibur that has never been returned. He also gave me the power to banish the influence of the Lion Goddess." Bedivere moved the prosthetic arm hidden under his cloak.

"So, if you were wondering why Tristan died without too much trouble during the battle… The reason is this arm of mine. And so, Merlin sent me here to solve a problem that I myself created, returning Excalibur to King Arthur… And ending a legend that I could not complete for a thousand years, ending also the King I once tried to save."

Bedivere paused after these words, and then he exhaled slowly, taking a brief pause after his long and detailed explanation before looking at Arthuria and her curious expression. "Your Majesty, I see… Do you have questions? Ask, I've told you all that has happened, there are hardly any more unpleasant questions in the world than the story of my greatest mistake."

Arthuria frowned slightly at this, before posing her own questions. "Why the Lion Goddess? And if it's King Arthur without Excalibur… Then what kind of King Arthur is she?"

"I take it back, as it turns out, there are still even more things that are unpleasant for me." Bedivere sighed. "The first answer is simple enough… The Lion King's title had already been taken by the time King Arthur was summoned, and it didn't take long for the Lion King to swore allegiance to her… As for the second…"

Bedivere chewed his lips a little and then exhaled, "Rhongomyniad, she wields that spear."

At that, Arthuria looked from Bedivere to the distant white walls of Camelot and nodded slowly. "I see… That makes sense."

Galahad put it even more simply before Mashu could ask her question. 'Ah, so that's how screwed we are!'

---

The flash of light threw Medusa's concentration off for a moment. After all, aside from the fact that someone was using Excalibur in the current situation, she definitely didn't spot King Arthur last time she checked. The very appearance of a new unknown enemy, and quite unexpectedly at that, caused Medusa to take her mind off Lancelot for a moment, trying to urgently make sense of the rapidly changing battlefield before her eyes.

After all, even though Medusa had originally possessed a high enough Stat for a Servant, and had been strengthened by the Grail, the holy sword, Excalibur, represented too much danger to ignore.

Lancelot, however, clearly aware of both of his ally's actions and the fact that he had won a few moments by the unexpected use of Excalibur, rushed forward. If Excalibur's light would not overtake Medusa, then at least Lancelot's blade would.

Scáthach rushed forward a moment later, and Lancelot's heavy blade slammed into Scáthach's enchanted spear with such force that the ground beneath Scáthach's feet was pushed down, causing her to sink almost ankle deep into the ground.

Medusa in turn took the only opportunity she could. The previously created invisible monster that had shielded Medusa and Jacques from Lancelot's gaze rose following her command. The invisible and intangible creature, as if created from hundreds of transparent threads and rippling wind, could not hold back Excalibur's blow completely, but could at least provide some mitigation.

Jacques reacted in the same way. A blade picked up by an uncut hand emerged in the path of Excalibur's light, not that Jacques really counted on blocking a blow of that magnitude, but every grain of sand counted in this case.

Medusa did the same, her planted chain surged and the two blades in the path of Excalibur's strike were another of Medusa's hopes of surviving such a collision.

And a moment later, Excalibur's blow collided with the two Servants.

The creature Medusa had created evaporated a moment later, as was to be expected, blocking a fraction of the power of the holy blade, and then the blow reached Jacques' sword and Medusa's two daggers.

At once, it felt like a mountain had fallen on top of Medusa,

For a second, she thought that the bones in her hands had cracked and crumbled to the ground beneath her feet, and her brain stopped controlling the movements of her limbs. That she had been driven headlong into the ground and her entire body was covered in burns. Medusa felt the power of Excalibur pressing down on her simultaneously, its blade cutting through her weapon, and the heartless Sun burning her body. A second passed in that interminable pain, then another, a third…

And the unmerciful glow of Excalibur began to fade, they had survived.

Medusa exhaled a breath that she had unknowingly held as she took stock of her condition. Her arms, that had withstood the blow of perhaps the most powerful holy sword, ached terribly, and she felt a full body burn that is beginning to heal. Medusa, after allowing a moment of joy at having survived Excalibur's blow, suddenly frowned, confused. 'And… That's it?'

Excalibur's blow was indeed something great, Medusa had felt the impact of the holy blade and the mighty Noble Phantasm almost burned her, however… It was Excalibur, wasn't it? It felt… lacking.

Medusa was under the impression that Excalibur should have stripped her of a few limbs at least, the chance of death was not insignificant either. And even if she did put up a monster and, with Jacques' help, tried to hold off Excalibur's blow, it was… Weak. Extremely weak for Excalibur.

So, after withstanding the blow and waiting a moment for the glow in the sky to subside, Medusa shifted her gaze to her opponent, waiting to see if there was a reasonable explanation, could… Could she survive Excalibur's blow and still consider it 'weak'?!

The glow of light disappeared a moment later, allowing Medusa to prepare for battle… Almost dying at that very moment.

Her eyes, blinded by Excalibur's light, had not been able to see the blade coming at full speed towards her neck.

Had Medusa not possessed the powers of the Grail, her life would likely have been cut short at that moment, even with all the powers and abilities of a Servant, Medusa barely had time to notice her opponent's attack.

At the last instant, Medusa managed to move her head to the side, allowing the blade to cut through the air beside her, before trying to counterattack with her abilities. Medusa's sharpened dagger rushed forward without pause, but playfully, her opponent took a step back, then to the side, evading Jacques' attempted attack.

Disregarding all the laws of physics and common sense, the attacker moved with a kind of exorbitant speed that Medusa could only compare to Achilles, and Achilles was 'the fastest hero of all'. Needless to say, Medusa's hair was raised.

"And here comes the Lion King in person." Jacques sighed, frowning slightly as she looked at the Servant that had just attacked them, who was backing away from Medusa and Jacques, allowing Medusa to finally see the knight before her.

At least he looked like a knight? The Servant is shrouded in gleaming white armor, with a red velvet cape over his shoulder with golden short hair, framed by the red strands of hair on his bangs. The young man gave both a regal and relaxed impression, as if trying to convey with his whole appearance that he was the master of the current situation, but at least a gracious one.

However, despite his appearance seemingly living separate from his mind, his gaze was cold and almost sad, the kind of gaze a mindless blade would have had, simply fulfilling its function.

"Have we met?" Pausing from the battle, oblivious to Medusa's gaze analyzing his body and actions, the Servant looked up at Jacques, confused. "I don't remember… Probably not, then I would have killed you."

"King Richard the First, 'The Lionheart.'" Jacques spoke out the Servant's name to Medusa, causing her to instantly strain all her knowledge of the Servant before her.

Richard the First, the so-called 'Last Knight of Camelot', was the last king and last knight to hold the legend of King Arthur alive and retain what remains of it. Obsessed with King Arthur, he was one of the leaders of the Third Crusade… Indeed, who better than him to side with Camelot in these circumstances.

Relatively speaking, Richard was not too much of a threat, his legend explaining why he was able to use Excalibur, if only such a weak and imperfect copy of it, but… Why was he so fast?

Medusa felt her gaze begin to dissect layer upon layer into the king's defenses, determining his abilities before stumbling upon something… Unusual.

Not bad or good for her, unequivocally, but it was a strange ability. One that is not naturally borne out of his legend, it was as if it was… Gifted from the outside. Like a smaller version of what Medusa herself received by taking the Grail, only more… Superficial? Instead of the profound change in the Servant's essence that Medusa herself had gone through, someone must have simply forcibly transplanted the ability into Richard, for all its effectiveness and usefulness of such an action, it felt… For lack of another word, Medusa could only say 'unaesthetic'.

Sadly, she didn't have time to dwell on the topic more, a blast of wind from behind Medusa indicated that the fight between Scáthach and Lancelot was continuing in full force. Seeing that their conversation was at an end, Richard rushed forward, traversing the path to Medusa and Jacques with mocking ease and speed, aiming to pierce them with his blade.

Jacques darted to the side and Medusa managed to raise her daggers, but Richard didn't back down, a moment later he simply traversed the path behind Medusa…

Only to fall to the ground instantly, as if he had tripped over a root under his feet.

Medusa only allowed the slightly mocking thought that it was foolish to suggest that she had been distracted in the middle of the battle by looking at her opponent. Just as foolish as to suggest that the destroyed monster that provided invisibility for Medusa and Jacques earlier was the only thing she could create.

Richard was struck to the ground by the poison, which Medusa, not having had time to study her adversary thoroughly, had taken the effect of her damned gaze, and was paralyzed. For a second, that is, but that was enough for Medusa, her blade entered precisely into Richard's skull, cutting off his short life's path.

"Richard!" A voice from where Lancelot was fighting Scáthach alerted Medusa, dashing backwards, dodging Lancelot's blow. Luckily for her, the latter wasn't trying to strike her, only to drive her away.

A moment later, Medusa glanced to the side, determining Scáthach's condition. Despite several shallow cuts on her arms and a slight shadow of irritation on her face, she looked almost uninjured.

Lancelot, however, didn't look much worse, in fact, he looked better. His pierced cheek had almost fully recovered, and his eye was clearly visibly recovering, the battle with Scáthach had likely ended in a draw.

However, now that Medusa was rid of Richard, the scales were clearly going to tip in the favor of the defenders…

Lancelot was clearly aware of this, so a moment later his blade flashed in his hands… Before he cut down his own arm.

Lancelot's left arm dropped, with spurts of blood pooling on the desert sands, causing Medusa to ponder for a moment the reason for such behavior; she didn't have to wonder long. Lancelot dashed away, with a speed that not even Richard had managed to demonstrate in battle before.

Medusa was aware that if Lancelot had continued to fight with such speed at the moment, even the three Servants would have been in trouble immediately. But instead, picking up Richard's body and casting one last angry look, Lancelot dashed away, raising a cloud of dust in the air, eager to carry his mortally wounded friend off the battlefield.

Medusa, after waiting a few seconds just in case Lancelot's retreating dust cloud was a trick, only frowned at these actions, turned her gaze to Lancelot's severed arm, which slowly began to melt into the air, then to Jacques, who raised her left arm, whose wrist had also been severed by Lancelot.

"Well…" Jacques glanced after Lancelot, then smiled and stretched her arm forward. A moment later, a black, frothy liquid appeared on her stump, causing Scáthach to reflexively grasp her spear, but the black viscous mass only rose up, forming Jacques' severed hand again.

"Let's assume that this battle passed without consequences."

Medusa had a feeling that her newfound ally had a gift for saying the obvious.

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chaldea and Staff: The triumph of the Great Scientist

"So…" Da Vinci folded her hands in front of her face, as she frowned slightly, assuming an unusual posture and expression for her. The act conveying a surprising amount of seriousness and concentration that seemed to make the room itself feel gloomy, causing all those present to pay attention to the usually flighty and cheerful scientist. "Any questions before we begin?"

Olga-Maria Animusphere slowly looked around the room with an attentive look, and seeing that no one seemed to be in an upfront mood, nodded slowly. It seems that she was the one that needed to ask the question that everyone wanted to ask. "Absolutely… And the first question, why the hell was I dragged out of bed to this incomprehensible meeting of the brightest minds in Chaldea!? Can someone explain to me what's going on here!"

Olga shouted and the room consisting of Medea, Tesla, Mozart, Da Vinci, and Romani seemed to preen at the praise before scowling as other than Da Vinci, none of them knows the reason as to why they're here either.

Roman, enlivened after Olga's outburst, brightened up a little and looked at Olga with an interested and commiserating look. "Wait, nobody told you anything either?! I thought I was the only one Da Vinci pulled out of their workplace without explaining why…"

With Romani slumping on the desk, and Olga still fuming, Medea glanced at Mozart for an explanation, who shook his head in denial. She then turned to Tesla, who was already drilling Da Vinci with his gaze, so followed his example, which was followed a moment later by everyone else present. Da Vinci, still trying to look serious in the current situation, found herself under intense scrutiny by many pairs of eyes.

"Hmm, so you didn't notice it! In all the time that has passed?!" Da Vinci realized that no one present in the room shared her discovery, and immediately her eyes widened in horror and with a certain amount of pity and regret at the same time. "I hate to say it, but…"

Da Vinci let out a slow sighed before she looked around at everyone gathered, causing them to question both the situation and their cognitive abilities for a moment. What event had they missed or failed to notice in all the time that had passed? Was Da Vinci planning to tell them some terrible secret, a terrible secret that they should have learned on their own a long time ago?!

"Ainz is…" Da Vinci paused, instantly gathering the gazes of everyone present with her masterful delivery, then, after a few long seconds, finished her sentence. "Is not just a Servant."

Olga, hearing this, was momentarily struck silent, almost with a panic analyzing her memory for the correctness of what Da Vinci had said, before realizing an important detail.

"I thought everyone already knew that?" Tesla arched his brow questioningly. "He is already a Servant without a Master, which is a very rare occurrence, and seemed to have no trouble supporting his own existence. Furthermore, a Servant serving as a Master, which is also very rare, multiples at that, a feat that no one in this room could accomplish. At least, not without some measure of difficulty, needing to source a very powerful leyline to do so, and not for long either, before the drain would be catastrophic."

At Tesla's pronouncement, except for Olga and Romani, being human, most of the people in the room nodded, further cementing Ainz's incredible power.

"Never mind the fact that he wields unknown magecraft, or perhaps even outright Magic from the Age of Gods, almost every other detail about him is abnormal to the extreme. From the scraps of information we've gathered, his probably identity as an Outer God, or that he most likely came from another world, not to mention that he has lived at least several hundred years… Would anything we find out now be surprising?"

Seeing the nods of assent from the others, Tesla continued on.

"The thing that we know for sure, like that he's an undead that doesn't hate the living, hopefully, as otherwise we're already doomed. That he wears a human body as his suit, one that is provided by you Da Vinci, though we shouldn't discount the fact that he could probably do it himself. What's there to be surprised about? He has killed gods, can resurrect the dead, has a rather dubious ancient past with a vampire goddess, demon emperor, mother of monsters and fairy queen, is a prophet who sees the future, a genius of all things magical, tactics and strategy, and is currently in a relationship with several girls at once. All while trying to save the world by destroying perhaps the most famous and powerful magus in all known human history by traveling through time and space to destroy distortions of human history created by that magus… Is that it, or am I forgetting something?"

Olga listened carefully to the brief retelling from Tesla of the information gathered about Ainz, before nodding, yes, that's right, Tesla had stated everything that Olga had already known.

"Yes," Da Vinci nodded, then shifted her gaze to the others present and frowned. "And it's just the tip of the iceberg!"

After such a recounting of information, saying 'And that's just the tip of the iceberg' would have seemed to most people a mockery at best and an occasion for divine revelation at worst, overturning their entire view of the world. But Olga only nodded at these words, not even much surprised by Da Vinci's words. It was Ainz, after all, Olga had long ago stopped trying to make any assumptions about his nature, abilities, or plans, and simply floated along, nodding at another insane discovery that turned the whole of world history upside down.

At least that was how she had managed so far not to fall into the abyss of madness into which, apparently, Da Vinci had eventually fallen. Who ended up literally forcibly drawing the Chaldean people into a secret conversation with a startling and extremely innovative idea. That Ainz was Ainz.

"I apologize for perhaps cutting in, Da Vinci, but after listing what Ainz is, which is certainly true, but also looks like absolute and incredible nonsense, I have only one question." Mozart interjected after a moment with a sigh, turning his eyes to Da Vinci. "Are you sure you had to assemble a company of many people and Servants at this moment? I'm not trying to say that your new discovery isn't revolutionary and unbelievable, on the contrary, I'm absolutely certain that it is, but… It's the most unbelievable and unexpected things about Ainz that represent the absolute norm of his existence."

With a tone of finality, as if to say that the sky is blue, Mozart ended his question.

"I see no reason to panic after you've managed to figure out that Ainz represents something even stranger and more mysterious than one might have previously assumed. After all, that seems to me to be what Ainz is all about, and I would be more panicked if you managed to definitively determine what he is. I remind you, it's Ainz, it would even be a little strange if, after a hundred inconceivable facts about him, you didn't have a chance to find out a dozen more."

Mozart pretty much said out loud exactly what Olga thought internally. 'Ainz is Ainz', just in a much more extended and beautifully creative way than Olga herself could, who's ready to shrug and say 'Ainz did something incredible… again, so what's for lunch?'

Da Vinci, however, frowned after the pronouncement. After which she puffed up her cheeks like a very large hamster that had adopted the appearance of Mona Lisa, or like a little child, offended that none of her friends wanted to play the game invented by her, indulging in her desire to show herself as a genius. Da Vinci looked down for a moment, before she suddenly looked around at everyone present, blurring into a beatific smile. "I understood your opinion, thought it over… And decided to ignore it!"

The rest of the room groaned, as Da Vinci seemed to brighten up watching their reaction, before she continued on, ignoring any and all objections.

"So, we all know that Ainz is an enigma, which can be called 'unsolvable' without any hesitation, right?"

Olga thought for a moment about whether she should just leave, leaving Da Vinci to her own affairs, and do her own things, not that there were many of them at the moment. Not to say that she seriously expected Da Vinci to reveal some incredible mystery to her at the moment…

Besides, even though Olga was a trained and sufficiently knowledgeable magus, she was not a genius like Da Vinci. Just as, for scientists, the discovery of another protein with some unpronounceable name could be a world-shaking breakthrough, for an ordinary man such an event elicits nothing more than an unsure shrug with the words 'well, it must be good'. Just as it is that a completely incredible discovery by Da Vinci could fly over Olga's head without causing any reaction in her mind.

On the other hand, it was impossible to say that Olga was not interested in Ainz and in the mysteries of his nature, abilities, history, or origin, especially considering that she is… in a relationship with him. Even just thinking of such a thing caused a blush to bloom on her face, one that she tried, and failed, to hide from Da Vinci.

So, with a sigh, Olga tried to make herself comfortable in her chair, leaning back, and prepared to listen to Da Vinci's revelations. She was hoping that, at least, this information would prove to be truly as remarkable as Da Vinci had presented it. Otherwise, this meeting would be a total wash.

The other Servants and Romani exchanged glances and seemed to come to roughly similar conclusions one way or another. Finally, with a collective sigh, the group focused their attention on Da Vinci again, causing her to cheer up and prepare for her story. With a fake cough, Da Vinci returned to retelling her findings.

"First of all, it's worth mentioning that I have repeatedly tried to analyze Ainz, and I think this is no secret to anyone?" Da Vinci mock looked at everyone present, with Olga rolling her eyes at such blatant pageantry. Da Vinci trying to find everything she could about Ainz was as much a secret as saying that Archers shoot arrows, it was something so blatant that even trying to mention it would just make one look ridiculous.

"I've created numerous theories, then reworked them, discarded some, and created new ones, until, in the end, I found myself completely submerged under a hundred thousand different and crazy ideas, losing myself in them altogether. What I find most amusing is that it was Ainz, whose study I devoted so much time to, who first pointed out the fundamental wrongness of my attempts."

Seeing raised eyebrows on most of the Servants, she didn't bother remarking on their surprise, seeing Da Vinci admitting that she was mistaken in something, choosing instead to push ahead.

"In the end, my scale of thought was too limited. I tried to understand Ainz in terms of what is called 'common sense', in terms of our current reality. To put him in a box as a magus, as a Servant, or even as a Divine Spirit, I tried to understand his existence in respect to Alaya, Gaia, Root, and the Throne of Heroes… Not realizing that the truth is much easier and therefore much further from us all!" Da Vinci suddenly clapped her hands, making Mozart, who was distracted, more interested in staring at Medea, flinch.

"Ainz is not a creature of this world!"

Olga did not bother commenting the obvious, remarking to the excited Da Vinci that her 'discovery' had long been known if not even self-evident. Deciding instead, to wait for the moment when Da Vinci would come to something more interesting, letting Da Vinci speak further, lest she wanted to suffer another tantrum from the genius.

"Of course, that is something that is already evident, but what is he then? If we take away all the known frames and stop relying on the labels we know, about magecraft or divinity. And instead look only at what Ainz is in fact, and not according to what we think he is, then Ainz is… Nothing."

Da Vinci let her statement resounded across the room a bit more as she paused, a cocky smile on her face as she looked around at the rest of the audience. She would let them break the silence first, to ask her a question on their own, letting her play the part of an 'all-knowing genius' a little more.

Tesla, who had clearly expected such an answer, only rolled his eyes, disapproving either of Da Vinci's behavior or her personality, and yet still chose to stay silent. Medea, however, had no such limitations. "In what sense is he, 'nothing'? I assume that I don't have to explain to you that he's very much existing?"

The Witch delivered with a mocking smile on her face.

"And what I mean by that, is that he's Nothing that can be logically justified." Da Vinci nodded, continuing on, keeping a smile on her face, while ignoring Medea's snide remark.

"Any living creature, or what we might call a living creature, there's some gray area there, has some basic indicators on which to base its personality, behavior, physiology, or even the magecraft they practice. Anything could be used as a measuring stick, the connection may be strange, perverse, extremely invisible, but it's always there. Nothing just happens for no reason at all, there must be a driving force behind them. Physical laws pull space together, while magical laws limit magical abilities, social laws shape morality, and the laws of mathematics explain the interaction of abstract concepts and real units with each other."

Another pause, as she extracted nods of assent from everyone present, to show that they understood and that they were paying attention, Da Vinci continued on.

"That's why it took me so long for me to accept that I could not find such things with Ainz, in his nature, situation or behavior, I couldn't find any connections with him. And all because of a simple mistake!"

Romani almost fell off his chair as the excited scientist seemed to enter a state of mania, as she shouted excitedly, moving animatedly all the while.

"How could I use the framework of our world, for a being that is not of it!?" Da Vinci nodded contentedly, having said much and said nothing at the same time, and making Olga think for a moment, trying to identify the unspoken implication of Da Vinci's words, before realizing an important detail. One that Mozart expressed a moment later. "And…? As much as your finding is quite monumental, that still doesn't tell us anything."

"Oh no, au contraire! It tells us everything! Now, instead of trying to construct an understanding in order to determine who Ainz is… We must simply understand who Ainz is and then look for an explanation!"

Olga frowned once more, feeling a migraine settle in her head, trying to understand Da Vinci was a trial at the best of times, but now? When she's in the grip of mania from her discovery? Impossible. Tesla, however, as perhaps befitting as a genius that could stand shoulder to shoulder with Da Vinci, nodded understandingly at the seeming circular argument i. "Induction, then? Instead of trying to make rules for observations, first record the observations and derive rules from them, abandoning all theories altogether, focusing instead on gathering information."

"That's right!" Da Vinci nodded excitedly. "And that's why I've spent the past few days not trying once again to create a single logical thread that could tie together all the disparate facts about Ainz into a coherent theory. But instead, recording all the information we know about Ainz, not discarding any information, no matter how 'trivial' or 'self-evident' it might be."

After a moment, Da Vinci put her hand behind her back, and then with a sleight of hand she pulled a huge book from behind her back. Just one look at which made Olga think of her days of learning magecraft in the past, of her teachers and of the Clock Tower, sending a wave of shivers down her spine. But after a moment Olga brought herself under control, as she saw Da Vinci put the huge thick encyclopedia on the desk, remembering to accompany it with her verbal commentary."Ta-da!"

Roman, glancing at the book, and at one specific entry, looked away a little embarrassed. "I see that you did not waste time…"

"No way!" Da Vinci smiled proudly. "And this is just a glossary of all the terms that I mention in further volumes where I've detailed my findings, I had no opportunity to bring those with me to this room!"

Hearing her words, Olga shifted her gaze to the huge encyclopedia before her eyes, for a second doubting Da Vinci's claim. Then, remembering just who she was thinking about, a person who was so out of touch with the perception of normality, that it was easier to simply add a special category for her. It was at least much better than trying to determine exactly where, on the scale of insanity, the mind of 'the most outstanding genius of all time', was located.

Da Vinci was Da Vinci, Ainz was Ainz, and Olga, who was not trying to fathom the esoteric mysteries and sacred truths of the universe, who kept her psyche in order and lived day after day in peace. Trying to understand these mad creatures? Therein lies madness.

"I suppose if we're talking about not accepting a single fact as self-evident, it's to be expected that the glossary of terms will be of similar dimensions." Medea sighed as she nodded slowly. "From the familiar terms used by Ainz in speech, to his interaction with three-dimensional space."

"That's right!" Da Vinci clapped her hands cheerfully, enjoying the fact that another of her contemporaries had appreciated her work and understood her intent, before turning to the rest.

"I gathered countless all the things I've recorded into multiple records, before analyzing each and one of them, categorizing and unifying them. The next step, of course, is to turn these observations into unequivocal truths before constructing any theories or ideas, focusing not on my own conjectures, but on what exists in reality and is completely objective."

Da Vinci then ended her findings then, even though she looked like she had things to add. Once again, Da Vinci was waiting for the popcorn gallery to comment on her findings, confident that the people in the room would be curious about what she's planning next and on what she had found out about Ainz. In the end, Romani was the first to surrender. "And then what?"

"And then to add more contrast, rather than just creating an axiom that would not stand scrutiny, I would compare my findings about Ainz with what I know, Servants, magecraft, the natural world and so on. And after exhaustively listing it all out…" Da Vinci stopped, a dramatic pause, clearly enjoying the attention riveted on her at the moment, at least in the fact that she was the one talking the most at the moment, before smiling.

"I didn't understand anything."

Instantly, bitterness foamed inside Olga, and she wanted to shout at Da Vinci something like 'then why did you gather us all here!'. But, used as she was to Da Vinci's antics, she only covered her eyes, took a slow breath and exhaled, letting Da Vinci continue her thought.

"To be more precise, I can say with certainty that there is no coherent logical theory as to how exactly Ainz turned out to be the Ainz that he is. Even if some facts or actions can be put together, one that can even form a logical ladder, another piece would soon cause it to crumble instantly. His existence just doesn't fit into a coherent piece all together. And while such a thing is only natural to expect in any legend, especially when it's about a supposed god beyond human understanding and awareness, there should still be a common through line through it all. Most things simply don't overlap, actions seemingly not following from the other, facts have no causes and no consequences, and self-contradiction lurks within almost every fact. Even the most basic concepts can contradict themselves many times when it comes to Ainz." Da Vinci smiled and nodded confidently, leaving no chance for a misinterpretation of her words.

"And then, having realized this, I created the best theory of all, my own Magnum Opus, to answer this fundamental contradiction of Ainz. Ainz is in fact!" Da Vinci raised both of her hands, with her index fingers pointing to the sky, as if she were a preacher in the throes of a religious experience. The rest of the room could only stare at her, at the edge of their seats. What paradigm shift would Da Vinci unveil?

"Not Ainz!"

Olga had to clench her teeth to stop herself from grabbing the thick encyclopedia on the table and do something unfortunate with it against Da Vinci. She wanted to scream out 'How does that even make sense, what are you talking about?!', but Olga simply covered her eyes and took another slow breath, and then exhaled. The act created before her inner eye a picture of a beautiful beach and a calm forest, with rustling leaves on the trees as she counted down from ten.

It is most likely that Ainz had something to do with Olga's incredible magical progress, in the most direct sense of all, but he also had something to do with the development of Olga's self-control at the moment. Indirectly perhaps, but he was demonstrating his effectiveness in terms of Olga's self-development at the moment.

Mozart, looking around at the others, accepted that it was his turn to question Da Vinci, and to contribute to the growth of her ego, as impossible as such a prospect might be, how could infinite become larger? Still, he asked the question that all the other people around were expecting… Except for Tesla, who most likely had already understood Da Vinci's direction of thought long ago and simply did not want to contribute to her vanity.

"In what way?"

"In the sense that the Ainz that everyone here knows-" Da Vinci twirled one finger in the air to emphasize her words. "And the Ainz that I've been studying all this time… They're different Ainz! I don't think I need to point out the hundreds of inconsistencies I've noticed about Ainz to… Well, anyone who's seen him at all." Olga only covered her eyes as an answer. Ainz was Ainz, that was the sole basis of her weak, fragile psyche all this time, but as it turned out, even the simplest logical inference in this case was not axiomatic.

As it turned out, Ainz was so unique that he might not even be Ainz… somehow.

On the other hand, Olga had given up trying to figure out who Ainz really was. It was a thought crystallized so long ago that all she could do in response to Da Vinci's theory was to shrug her shoulders and mark it as yet another unsolved mystery in her mind.

Where Olga saw only an unsolvable mystery, however, Da Vinci saw a prize that she simply had to open.

"It's funny in retrospect, but it was when I tried to piece together everything logically into a coherent theory for the umpteenth time that it kept falling apart in my hands and giving up when I found my answer. It was then when I decided to abandon logic in my reasoning, and I first saw a single logical coherent thought before me." Da Vinci nodded, then exhaled. "The Ainz we know, the one walking in the halls of Chaldea, and the Ainz we are trying to reason about, and the Ainz who performed such legendary feats and the Ainz who resolves Singularities… These are all different Ainz'!"

After another pause, with Tesla looking like he was deep in thought, Romani looking disturbed for some reason, with Medea and Mozart looking intrigued, did Da Vinci continue on.

"This is the only truth I've been able to find after studying our current situation for so long." Da Vinci nodded. "Ainz… The Ainz that exists right now, the Ainz that existed in the past, and, I suppose, the Ainz that he was originally, all of them are different iterations of the same Ainz. That is to say…"

"Ainz really is a Servant." Medea suddenly added, opening her eyes wide, looking at Da Vinci carefully. "To be more precise… He currently exists as a Servant, a separate part of the personality of the Heroic Spirit sealed in the Throne of Heroes. The Ainz that exists now… It's only a part of the real Ainz."

"That's right!" Da Vinci finally sat down happily in her seat, then glanced at Tesla, who had remained silent enough the whole time, not hiding his displeasure with Da Vinci and her words and actions. "The Ainz we know and the Ainz that exists in reality are two completely different things. More than that, I would not be the least bit surprised by much of what is possible. For example, if this version of Ainz existed in the same way that Servants embody only part of Heroic Spirits, it wouldn't surprise me if this Ainz didn't have a memory of his past and encounters with other Servants summoned by him. Or, if he didn't have the knowledge that he should have, like the basic principles of his magecraft. I can tell you that it wouldn't even surprise me one bit if this version of Ainz didn't even know that he was just a part of the whole!"

Tesla seemed like he wanted to interject, before he was cut off by Da Vinci.

"Well, that last one was just a theory, a wrong one at that! As we all have already seen, this is definitely not the case, so I will not theorize on this subject more and just skip this moment of reflection. It's just quite the treat to have some logical through line about Ainz, even if it's wrong." Olga could only roll her eyes at these words.

An Ainz who doesn't know such basic information about himself? Ha-ha, what's next, that Ainz is really just a man in a skeleton suit who doesn't know what he's doing? Of course, even for an absurd joke, it was too absurd.

What's next? Romani is secretly Solomon? What an absurd thought.

"In other words, the Ainz that existed in reality and the Ainz we all know are different entities," Da Vinci nodded confidently. "And the most important of which are…"

"What part of the 'Heroic Spirit' Ainz represents the current Ainz, who Ainz really is, and where can we find what can be called the origin of the 'Heroic Spirit Ainz'. The original according to which this copy of Ainz was created." Tesla sighed and shook his head. "Not to mention that this automatically leads us to think about what the level of Ainz's powers really is, whether he is a god beyond human understanding, and many others. No legends in Human History existed such an all-powerful being."

After these words, Tesla shifted his gaze to Da Vinci before nodding. "So… Where and when could we find such a legendary figure?"

At Tesla's question, Da Vinci looked carefully at everyone present, and then answered seriously and slowly, closing her eyes for a moment. "I don't know."

Olga once again looked at the heavy volumetric compendium for a moment, contemplating on its potential use as a lethal weapon, before she closed her eyes and imagined lambs jumping over a fence.

The lambs, obeying her mental command, instantly began jumping over the fence… In the process turning into Ainz as they jumped, before, as they fell to the ground, turning into some kind of uncharted terror from beyond all time and human existence for a moment, then dissipating into nothingness.

Olga did not know whether it said something about her, her psyche or her mental state, but such a picture, and after repeating it several times, was calming to Olga. As she opened her eyes, staring at Da Vinci, she waited for an answer to the extremely important and interesting question.

"And… What next? Why are we here in the first place?"

After this very essential question, Da Vinci looked around at everyone present as if for the first time and closed her eyes, reflecting with her frowning eyebrows the storm of emotions raging inside her. The action wrinkled her beautiful face, before slowly, as if through force, painfully saying the words that she clearly did not want to say. "I… Please help."

Upon hearing such words, Olga reflexively tried to grab hold of the volume lying on the table before she realized what had been said. "Whoa, what?!"

A moment later, Olga's gaze met the people and Servants around her, trying to determine whether she had actually heard what Da Vinci had said. Or whether she had gone completely mad after the genius' story, before realizing that it was not so. Olga was in a completely sane state of mind, it was the whole world around her that had gone mad.

To learn that Ainz, who was an unknown something beyond comprehension, turned out to be an even stranger, something beyond comprehension, was one thing that was quite within Olga's perception. To hear that Da Vinci, the self-proclaimed genius of all geniuses, the greatest, and far from humble, of all scientists, was asking for help… It was wild indeed.

Tesla, as the one sitting closest to Da Vinci, was clearly thinking the same thing, instantly extending his hand in a rather pointless for Servants, but quite normal human gesture, putting the back of his hand to Da Vinci's forehead. "Da Vinci, I have never agreed with your worldview, but if you have indeed suffered traumatic damage to your brain, it would be a great loss to the entire human race… Do you need some clinical help?"

"Is it so wild that the greatest genius of all geniuses would ask for help and confess their imperfection?!" Da Vinci shouted indignantly, shaking off Tesla's hand, before suddenly became silent as she thought about what she's saying for a moment and sighed.

"Okay, I guess this is a really strange situation…"

Da Vinci looked around, at all the Servants and people present, lingering on Tesla once more, allowing Olga to discern in one great scientist's face a genuine interest, perhaps even apprehension, directed at another great scientist. She then closed her eyes and slowly exhaled before, with a clear heavy heart, beginning to speak again. "I will say this again, only once, but… When I met Ainz in the past, he pointed out a simple thing to me."

With a deep sigh of the damned, as if she was admitting that she in fact dislikes things that are beautiful, something anathema to herself, Da Vinci continued.

"I'm not perfect." Da Vinci smiled an unexpectedly much brighter smile, with a little less of her usual bravado. "Don't worry, I'm not losing my confidence or anything that drastic, I'm still the great Da Vinci, the genius of all geniuses. But in the end, thanks to Ainz, I realized… That I am just one person, after all. Even the greatest man is only one man in the end. It was with this understanding that allowed me, for the first time in my life, to look at myself and ask myself…"

Da Vinci closed her eyes, then opened them with a genuine fire of conviction that Olga had never seen in Da Vinci's gaze before. "What am I doing with my life?"

Olga didn't need to look at the other people in the room to know that they're adopting the same expression as her, open-mouthed shock. Well, in essence anyway, the Servants in the room were not all that expressive.

"I've always relied on my extensive knowledge, on my ability to find the answer out of hundreds of lies, combining facts to find the truth. But… is that the job of a scientist?" Da Vinci grinned momentarily. "It was this insight that first made me think not of my strengths, but of my weaknesses. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link at the end. And I realized that, no matter how many times I called myself a scientist in the past, I… I probably could never call myself one."

Da Vinci shifted her gaze to Tesla, who was looking at her, interestedly, if not even with some respect. "Processing hundreds of facts and choosing the best fit among them? It was not the work of a scientist, but just a computer. A super-computer perhaps, but not even a third-rate scientist. A scientist is not supposed to find answers to the same questions, but to ask new questions to which he has no answers and find them."

Da Vinci shifted her gaze to the other Servant. "And so, I, for perhaps the first time in my life… Decided to admit that there is something in the world that I do not know, and instead of trying to solve the problem again with my old method, to look at it anew with a new outlook. And that's why I gathered you all here."

"Because all of you here are people whose intelligence I trust enough to step on my vanity and… Ask you to help me. To ask me questions that I have no answer to, to move from my position of super genius to that of scientist for the first time in my life." Da Vinci nodded, then looked around at everyone else, opening her mouth for a moment before closing it with a snap, and shook her head.

"It was said once, and it will never be said again. Now everyone here knows what we're dealing with, so… Who wants to think about it?"

The other present, hearing Da Vinci's words, looked at each other, causing Olga to frown for a moment, trying to understand what exactly Da Vinci's opinion and her change carried…

Before shrugging her shoulders and returning to the discussion.

Ainz was Ainz, even if he wasn't really 'Ainz; in the end. And Da Vinci was Da Vinci, even if she decided to stop being Da Vinci. This was simply the truth of life, which Olga took for granted, without trying to think it through on her own.

And the less Olga tried to delve into these mazes, the easier her life went on, that, at least, she knows for certain.

 

[Russian Reversal]

Chapter 135: Meeting new Serrvants

After Bedivere's long and thorough retelling of his sad story, all Mashu could do was to bow her head and head in the direction of the small refugee camp, bearing the stares of fear and mistrust of the camps' inhabitants. Mashu found the stares hard to bear, no matter how real or unreal the people might be.

After all, the people of this Singularity could not be called 'real' in the full sense of the word, simply by the very existence of the Singularity as a warping of Human History. It still doesn't make the stares any less heavy, the apprehension, fear for their loved ones, nervousness, all of it felt like a crushing weight on her back.

'Also, we'll have to explain ourselves to them about the dead Administrator.' Galahad's words piled on some more wood in the blazing fire of Mashu's mind, causing her to flinch. 'And Rhongomyniad, probably also aimed our way, so yes, bad news all around…'

Bedivere told Mashu everything he could tell her about the Divine Spear… Not that it really helps much – the spear was more of a myth even for a Knight of the Round Table, the information was mostly made up of rumors, collated facts, and information Merlin had shared with him. They were astonishingly abundant, and yet mean surprisingly little.

While the amount of 'information' was abundant, being as they are rumors or simply snippets from Merlin, the information was self-contradictory, or simply gibberish without the full context. So much so, that after several attempts to explain to Mashu the nature of the Lion Goddess's proclaimed weapon, Galahad gave up, or, more accurately, paused to consider again the correct answer to her question. What the Rhongomyniad really was.

Mashu herself was also trying to think through the information she had been given, but she found it particularly difficult to do so in the background of Bedivere's story. A complex story that caused Mashu to change her expression from brooding to frowning every few seconds as she continued to wander through the empty camp.

'Mashu, if you keep thinking so hard, you'll wrinkle your face like a raisin and age fifty years in a day. What would Ainz say then?' Galahad used the simplest trick to distract Mashu, but even the simplest trick was enough to throw off Mashu's already dispersed concentration.

"I just want to help Bedivere, but… I don't see any way." Mashu sighed, then suddenly started sniffing as a certain aroma hit her nose. "Is it just me, or do I smell rice?"

'And Bedivere can't be helped anymore. What has happened, happened, and all that remains for both of us at the moment is to put an end to his story.' Galahad sighed, after which he parsed Mashu's words, exclaiming as a certain aroma struck him too. 'You know, you're right, it smells like rice! Only… I don't think there was any rice in this place the last time we saw the warehouses around here… If you can call the ramshackle hut that.'

While she liked reading, Mashu's knowledge doesn't cover something as narrowly focused as the diet of the inhabitants of the Middle East in the time of the Crusades. But still, Mashu was still fairly certain that rice was clearly not part of the locales' usual diet.

However, following the intensifying scent, Mashu eventually crossed the path of a large group of people. It seems that at least half of the refugee camp had gathered into one crowd, blocking Mashu's view of what they were crowded around. Though even so, Mashu had no trouble seeing the tall muscular, broad-shouldered Archer, who towered two heads above everyone else, a mop of tousled hair in the middle of the crowd, observing them in a relaxed way.

"One at a time, one at a time, there's enough for all! Even with the glutton here, there's enough for everyone!" He said loudly, as he tried to organize the large mass of people in a single line. Seeing his effort prove fruitless, Archer could only look with a scrunched up face at the probable cause for the crush of people. Even with the people crowding around, they seem to give the pale figure a wide berth, allowing her to eat in peace.

"Attendant gets his portion and leaves, and Arthuria, you're on your tenth plate… Enough, I certainly have an endless bag, but I do not know whether it will be enough for you!"

"What's going on?" Mashu looked around at the crowd of people slowly moving in one direction in some semblance of an organized formation, and at the Archer and Arthuria eating calmly but with an inexorable pace. "And where did we get the rice?!"

"Tota," The procedurally generated archer number one said suddenly, making Mashu wince and turn to him.

"What?" She asked an important question, trying to understand how one word can explain all this.

"My comrade never tried to hide his legendary name or skills, so he didn't deny himself the use of his abilities this time." Archer sighed. "Tawara Tota. That's his name."

Mashu thought for a moment, remembering a legendary hero with that name, before the memory popped into her mind. Tawara Tota, aka 'Tota Straw Sack', the legendary archer of Japan, who once encountered a huge monster on a bridge. And seeing that it only peacefully continued to lie on the bridge over which he was about to pass, he stepped over the monster, which turned into a beautiful girl.

The girl, in turn, admiring the man's bravery, asked him for help in killing the giant centipede, which Tota did, killing it with three archery shots, for which, at the end of his legend, he was gifted with several treasures… Including an endless bag of rice, an unorthodox reward for an unorthodox hero.

'Hmm, this is the first completely non-combat Noble Phantasm I've ever heard… And there are a lot of Heroes.' Galahad's voice echoed in Mashu's head, sounding a little thoughtful. 'Although, thinking of it another way, hmm… If he flips the endless sack of rice over and starts spilling the contents, endlessly, at some point in time he'll fill the whole world with it, won't he? Maybe that could be considered its combat application?'

For a second, Mashu imagined the tall, broad-shouldered Archer turning over the endless sack of rice. Then, day after day, as the spilled mountain of rice covered the entire world, before she shrugged away the image and returned to the real world. She wasn't surprised to find herself standing in line with everyone else with a small bowl in her hands.

Not that Mashu required nourishment in her current form, but on the other hand she still enjoyed eating. And besides, she was clearly not taking any resources away from other people, the main feature of an endless bag of rice was that it was endless.

Besides, Arthuria was also back in line with a nonchalant look on her face, seemingly already for her eleventh serving, so Mashu didn't look any stranger or worse than anyone else doing it.

Plus Mashu hadn't had rice in a long enough time, and had just fought a battle, had almost been killed by Gawain, and had heard the full story of Bedivere. So she deserved at least that kind of compensation for all that work!

The line, meanwhile, continued to move gradually, with Mashu making her way toward Tawara, who continued to pour portion after portion, sighing sadly each time afterward. He seemed to be muttering to himself something like 'and why couldn't she give me an endless keg of sake to go with it?' though Mashu couldn't be sure. Though, if he had endless rice, doesn't it mean that he also has endless sake? It's made out of rice after all, though Mashu supposed it's different.

Regardless of his complaints, when the Mashu reached the front of the line, Tawara, even though he was tired of repeating the same actions, scooped a huge portion of rice, and unceremoniously slapped it into a plate. And then, picking it up in his hands, turned to his comrade, Generic Archer number one. "Arash, I'm going, finished with cooking, now the delivery is on you."

"As I expected… Is it that hard for you not to call me by my name?" The Archer called Arash, the same procedurally generated archer number one, took a step in the place of Tawara, who moved through the mass of people like an icebreaker, walking at a steady pace to his goal. Namely, to the food plates. "That was the attempt to keep our names a secret… Although, I suppose it's just my luck?"

'Arash…' Galahad inside Mashu echoed as she moved closer to the archer who had come to replace the past. 'Wait, Arash, the legendary archer from Persia?!'

Mashu strained her memory again for a moment before the name clicked, causing Mashu to gasp in surprise.

Arash, the legendary hero of ancient Persia. Crowned as the best of all the archers of his land, the hero who ended the state of constant war in ancient Persia. According to legend, after decades long war between the many tribes of Persia, two rulers made an agreement that the border of their dominions will end where an arrow of an archer will fall.

And so Arash, having climbed the highest mountain, put his all into his shot that his arrow flew for forty days and several thousand kilometers, the act literally tearing his body apart. So great was his desire for peace and an end to the war that he would sacrifice his all to achieve it.

Hearing his legend and story paints a grand picture of an Archer, one where one expects a burly and gregarious figure. Mashu couldn't quite suppress her surprise at having that preconception shattered so utterly.

The dreaded question of exactly why he looked like the most ordinary of all ordinary archers, however, was not answered.

However, Arash, not being privy to Mashu's private thoughts, or really paying attention to anything else, simply handed Mashu a plate filled with steaming white rice. And only that. "I'm sorry, but we really have nothing but rice."

"Erm, no problem…" Mashu answered automatically, picking her plate, before she started to wander around trying to find a place to at least sit down away from the crowd of people still lining up. Looking around, she spotted Tawara, leaning against the walls of one of the ramshackle buildings, eating his own plate of rice with chopsticks that he had found somewhere. Maybe he just carried a pair at all times?

Not wanting to disturb the busy cook, Mashu looked around some more, finding Arthuria, who was already back on the line again? What happened to her eleventh… Ah, she was still chewing on it, and she's already on the line for her twelfth serving? Mashu began wondering about the supplies in Chaldea, worrying that they might not be enough, especially if they ever find another version of Arthuria…

"Is something bothering you?" Bedivere, who was carrying his own plate of rice, appeared in Mashu's blind side, almost making her jump.

"Or do you just not like the taste of rice without any sides?"

"No, it's just… A lot has happened, there are a lot of things to chew on." Mashu shook her head at the accidental joke, before finding a place to sit down and began eating the bland food. The rice is delicious, though, perfectly cooked as well, so there's that.

"You could say that I'm just a little tired today… Mentally that is."

"I understand…" Bedivere nodded solemnly at those words, agreeing with Mashu's simple yet true assessment. "The battle with Tristan, and then the appearance of Gawain, and then my full story… I could understand why everything might seem overwhelming, having those happening in short succession. And you've only heard the short version before…"

"About that…" Mashu knew that the time for her confession had passed, and that the confession itself meant nothing in the current circumstances. But in the end she had decided to confess it to Bedivere in the past, it was too stupid now to just let her resolve dissipate. "Well… Bedivere, but I actually missed your story when you told me about it, and I felt bad asking you to repeat it, so I just pretended to know. Anyway, I'm sorry!"

Mashu apologized seriously, as if it wasn't something trivial, causing Bedivere to look at her, slightly surprised, as he then smiled slightly. "If you want an answer, then I forgive you… But you could have said nothing about it? It's not that important, not now when you've heard its full version anyway."

"I guess…" Mashu looked away, embarrassed now by her unneeded apology, instead she tried to justify herself. "I just thought that you were so glad when I listened to your story, and it seemed important to you, and I let it pass my ears and… Anyway, here we are."

"Heh." Bedivere chuckled as Mashu's cheek became red with embarrassment, and he had to stop himself from laughing loudly, not wanting to disturb Arthuria. Who, once again, was pulling the trick of making food disappear from her plate as she moved from the beginning to the end of the line. "It's funny… I spent a thousand years wandering, and something good happened to me only near the end of my journey."

"The end?" Mashu looked at the Knight of the Round Table, who seemed to age a decade in the past ten seconds. "It's not the end, isn't it? After you completed your task, wouldn't you return to the Throne of Heroes after your death and one day you will appear again in some other world. You will have many other stories then wouldn't you?"

"This…" Bedivere lowered his gaze to his hand, then turned to Arthuria, watching her thoughtfully, before smiling a little. "You're right. Maybe you're right, maybe there's a little nook in the Throne of Heroes even for a failure of a knight like me…"

Bedivere seemed to be lost in thought for a while as he looked at the horizon silently, before distracting himself again by returning to the already-cold portion of rice in his plate. "Tawara's sack might be endless, but I wouldn't risk betting that one against my king's appetite."

Mashu, watching Arthuria back on the line again with Arash seeming to contemplate just giving her the whole batch of rice, was forced to agree.

---

The slow swaying motion of the palanquin moving on the sand dunes was almost hypnotizing to any outside observer. Medb's movements across the desert were smooth and unhurried, like a huge ship cutting through the waves, even Assassin felt her tired but repeatedly trained mind begin to drift off to sleep over the long journey to Ozymandias palace.

A place which Assassin herself did not want to go to, but what other choice does she have? After all, in her current form, she was not even a third-rate Servant, but, quite literally, one hundredth of a third-rate Servant. She'll probably die if any of the Servants in the retinue look at her wrong.

That she had escaped in the past from her pursuers, from Gareth sent by order of the Lion Goddess, could, and should, be attributed primarily to miracles and accidental coincidences in reality. She definitely wouldn't be attributing it to any sort of plan… Because she had none.

She was aware that she would most likely die on her mission of exploration, moreover, it could be said that that fate was sealed the moment she first realized that Camelot's lackeys had been sent for her.

The Assassins had nothing to offer the powerful figures around Camelot, the less said about actually fighting them the better. They could not offer their allegiance to the ideals of the Crusaders while maintaining the religious faith they had always held. They could offer no material benefit to Ozymandias, being only an abandoned bunch of overnight assassins on the cliffs of history, desperate to prolong the lives of the surrounding refugees, if only for a few extra days. And they could offer no way of resolving the conflict between Semiramis and the First, even if for any reason any of them would consider such sacrilege. The First, True Hassan, could destroy them at the very moment they would only decide to rebel against him and against their own roots, the fortress of Alamut.

All the Assassin sect had was their numbers. And so began their inexorable march to their doom, sacrificing themselves one by one, day by day, bleeding themselves out in a pointless attempt to prolong life for at least a day.

Staying in this kind of environment, it was to be expected that each Hassan's prospect of living was quite unambiguous. Every mission was not just potentially her last, this was always the norm for assassins – every mission had to be her last. Living for a second one, might as well be a miracle.

To be unexpectedly rescued by a group of unknown Servants in the midst of trying to sell her life for the highest possible price, was such a miracle. She was planning on winning, not by taking the lives of the servants of Camelot, but the seconds they would spend catching up with a fleeing Assassin and the time it would take to return home, after finishing her off.

Grim, but such was the life of Assassins.

Although, apart from the fact of the rescue itself, the unexpectedness and personalities of her rescuers should not have been underestimated. The three royal persons, Servants or not it shows, were immediately interested in the infirm Servant, who could only be called a Servant by a great misunderstanding.

And not a royal, but no less conspicuous person, Sanzang Xuanzang, the same monk, or, to be more exact, the same nun who had set out on a Journey to the West… This time, however, having gone much further than India and having lost her companions along the way.

"Something wrong?" The aforementioned Sanzang, traveling on foot, maintaining a radiant smile on her face as if she were experiencing perhaps the best journey of her life at this moment. Rather than wandering through the desert on her way to the chambers of one of the greatest rulers of all time, something that they actually are doing, spoke. The nun focusing her attention on the slow-walking Hassan.

"Tired?"

"No." After a few seconds of thought, and no small amount of shock at being suddenly spoken to, Hassan answered simply, an unusual action for the very careful Assassin. Not that she could even technically make her situation worse, no matter what she said at the moment and no matter what situation she revealed, if they wanted her dead, she would be dead.

Nevertheless, she simply wanted the conversation to end quickly, being in the throngs of people that could kill her for any reason was not her preferred way to relax.

"Then why are you looking at me so intently?" Completely failing to catch the tone of Hassan's reply, Sanzang only smiled as she continued to move through the desert. Though perhaps Hassan should have guessed earlier that a Servant known for one great journey would not suddenly have trouble traveling. And no, Hassan was not staring at the nun, she was simply in the periphery of her vision, the consequence of traveling in the same direction.

In any case, Sanzang kept looking at Hassan, forcing her to answer, with honesty, even, which was a great luxury in the current situation. "I am worried about Ozymandias… Meeting him is not something I want to experience at all, though perhaps I should not worry about it? Meeting him is not something I would survive."

Hearing this, Medb, who was lounging in her palanquin, previously barely paying attention to the Assassin, took her mind off her contemplation of the desert dunes intermingled with her amorous musings about Ainz, and looked at Hassan.

The simple action causing the Hassan to tense up inwardly.

"Why?" Sanzang asked a question, quite sincere, judging by her tone. Though then again, the nun probably has no deceiving bone in her body. "Ozymandias looks a little scary, of course, but he's not scary at all!"

A moment later, after parsing her words for a moment, Sanzang tried to correct herself. "I mean, he's scary, but not in a bad way. He's quite kind and generous… So there's no reason for you to be afraid!"

Noticing the way that Nitocris, and Hassan couldn't help but recognize Ozymandias chief handmaiden, only nodded happily at these words in confirmation, Assassin could only whimper mirthlessly, unheeded by the others, under her nose.

Ozymandias was a ruler, indeed, a ruler of the highest of calibers – he was a merciful tyrant, but a tyrant nonetheless, with the arrogance and hubris to match. And so the best reaction of all possible, to a useless Assassin appearing in front of him, would probably be to order her out the door.

It's also highly probable that he might just order her execution, Ozymandias' relations with the Assassin Sect were strange to say the least.

Given that the First Hassan had appeared to Ozymandias before, not to kill, if that were the case, Ozymandias would be dead, but still leaving him 'a mark to remember'. And, strangely enough, this had no effect on Ozymandias' relationship with the First Assassin, to be frank, Ozymandias had only developed a respect for him, a tremendous respect. But that didn't mean that such respect extended to the rest of the Sect.

Ozymandias' attitude toward the Assassin Sect was not one of anger, as they are the True Hassan's followers, but instead of contempt as to his unworthy imitators, who dared to carry his name. In the past, Ozymandias had refused to grant aid to 'bearers of the name unworthy of carrying it'.

"The Assassin Sect had some… past events with His Majesty." Hassan replied in a streamlined manner, then looked away from Sanzang. On the other hand, when you think about it this way, the death at the hands of Ozymandias in his palace was essentially a delayed death at the hands of the dogs from Camelot. So, her fate hasn't changed anyway – and since she had already accepted her fate, why worry about it?

The thought did make her steps a bit lighter, as grim as it might be.

Medb, who had been watching the scene unfold, turned her gaze then to Nitocris. "Ah yes, perhaps it will be a good trial for you."

"Me?" Nitocris was a little surprised at Medb's words, but after a moment she was able to pull herself together, feeling her former willingness to help Ozymandias, whatever form it took, flared up again. Not that she could help Ozymandias specifically in this case, but any test of her qualities allowed her to show herself ready to help Ozymandias in his duties of government… If at least only to herself.

"I am ready!"

"In that case, you should have known that the test existed, instead of relying on my explicit indication that it exists in the first place." Medb shook her head a little disappointed, taking the winds out of Nitocris' sail a bit.

"But I suppose it's unreasonable to expect a child who only plays at being a ruler to have the mind of a ruler. Well, in this case at least, I should show you some pointers…"

Medb stuck out her body a little beyond her throne, her diminutive figure requiring her to lean on the armrests of her palanquin, which made her look like a child happily looking out the window of her parents' car. "Problem one. You were involved in saving Hassan, one way or another you've involved Ozymandias' kingdom with the Assassin Sect."

"I did almost nothing…" Nitocris remarked with a wide eyed-look of surprise and despondence, causing Sita to reach out and give Nitocris a little pat on the hair, dispelling the clouds over her head.

Medb, however, showed less clemency and merely nodded. "Yes, your contribution was almost nothing, but it existed. And though it meant nothing in a personal sense, in a formal sense it could not be ignored."

"I participated too!" Sanzang, showing even less understanding of courtly, or any etiquette at all, speaks out as well, causing Medb to glare at her angrily, making her close her mouth immediately.

"I remembered." Medb said, deeply unhappy, remembering Sanzang's attack that sent Gareth away, making all the progress she had made moot. "But it is not in my interest to punish you for your foolishness now. But believe me, I have not forgotten."

"What?" Sanzang blinked in incomprehension, but Medb had already put the conversation aside and returned to Nitocris.

"You've just saved a person, though that in itself is not a significant event in the eyes of Ozymandias, but if you refuse to support the person you rescued, it will reflect on your image as a ruler. Just as it would reflect on Ozymandias' image, as you're his subordinate. And, frankly, you can't refuse support for Hassan, since you are only one of those who put in the effort to save the Servant in the first place."

Medb then struck one of her fingers up. "Worse yet, Ozymandias does not approve of the Hassans' existence, one that is, frankly speaking, a useless Servant, bringing her into his sanctum, in his palace. Something like that, can by no means be called a small move… Not to mention the fact that you are essentially bringing in an Assassin, to meet a ruler, one that had been actually assassinated in the past. I don't need to explain to you how this could be construed, right?"

Nitocris, who had been eager to prove herself as a thoughtful ruler, immediately found herself paling at the potential great insult she had just given her liege. She was almost panicking, running her eyes about her surroundings, waiting for a clue from someone nearby. Seeing this, Medb could only sigh, drawing the inexperienced Pharaoh's attention.

"Stop panicking and start thinking, behave like a proper ruler. Take a moment to recognize the situation you find yourself in, consider each of the facts, and begin to look for a way out of it. Consider the actions you can take and the words you can still say to Ozymandias." Medb snapped her fingers, making Nitocris flinch.

As she returned to her palanquin, Medb noticed the questioning look from Sita. Seeing this, Medb made her palanquin move a bit ahead from the bunny-eared Pharaoh, as she sidled up to the Assassin and began speaking in hushed tones, a paled pallor on her face. Now that there's no danger of Nitocris overhearing them, Medb addressed the red-haired Servant. "Yes, Sita?"

Sita only glanced at Medb, "Why lie? You know Ozymandias couldn't care less about the Assassin Sect. Even the implied insult or threat you spoke of from Nitocris, he would probably only find funny. The Assassins posed as much a threat to him as a grain of sand, and Nitocris couldn't even think of a bad thing about Ozymandias."

Medb didn't need more explanation for her question, so she just sighed. "Ozymandias has asked for a favor, though he wouldn't word it as such, in exchange for passage through his territory. He wanted information, and for me to take care of Nitocris and help her grow up… I'm just paying him for this favor, no more than that."

"But Ozymandias loves Nitocris, he will accept any excuse she says." Sita answered simply, well aware that Ozymandias did indeed have an extreme soft spot for the inexperienced ruler, and didn't hide it. The inexperienced Pharaoh was simply so far removed from being a Pharaoh that she couldn't see that, even when faced with the overt display of favoritism from Ozymandias.

"Because it would help Nitocris' growth, and there's nothing better for that than self-reflection." Medb sighed. "Whatever answer Nitocris comes to, Ozymandias will accept it. It's just a question of getting Nitocris to think, and then when Ozymandias accepts the result of her thinking and finds it satisfactory, and he won't do otherwise, Nitocris will receive confirmation of her judgment from Ozymandias. A reward for her work. The action and a reward, an attempt to train Nitocris to keep thinking and acting as the ruler should."

A moment later, Medb felt a gaze on her, moving it to the side and meeting her gaze with Sanzang's sneaking, smiling half-smile. "What?"

"You're like Ozymandias, scary, but not in a bad way. You both are also very kind." Sanzang nodded, causing Medb to cover her eyes irritably before opening them.

"By the way, oh, Buddha's disciple?" Medb blurted out in a smile. "I think I completely forgot to talk to you about the need to think on your part as well…"

"Um…" Sanzang, who instantly felt the shadow of death come over her, swallowed and tried to put a smile back on her face. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, no, not yet, you're not." Medb answered calmly. "But I'm going to make you…"