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Final battle of Camelot continued (212)
🕑 Added 2023-06-04 19:23:25 +0000 UTCSita's arrow sliced, whistling through the air, overcoming speeds that no nameless ancient inventors of the bow could have imagined possible in any frightening or fantastic dream. It flew the distance from Sita’s bow to its target in almost an instant.
Sita, or more accurately, her bow, her Noble Phantasm possessed outstanding destructive power, but when compared to the walls of Camelot, protected by the power of the Goddess, even this was entirely insufficient to shatter the city defenses. Perhaps, if she were to combine her efforts with the second Archer standing beside her, Tawara Tota, Sita could punch a small hole in the enemy's defenses.
But even so, it would at best provide a small breach, for a few minutes at that most likely. Of course, not to Castle Camelot itself, but only to its walls.
So the target of her attack was not at Camelot, but the arrow-like figure of the Servant, who in an instant had covered an incredible distance across an empty desert field, heading for Semiramis' palace soaring in the distance.
Sita's attack was fast, after all, she was still an Archer-class Servant, so she could fight long-range combat at a level that mere humans could never achieve. But even Sita’s speedier arrow could not hope to catch its target.
It wasn't because Sita couldn't aim accurately, didn't have good eyesight, or didn't make allowances for the Servant's speed, no. Instead, the Servant themself was so fast that, unless her attack was truly instantaneous, the fact that her arrow needed to cover the distance at all, made Sita hitting the target impossible.
Moreover, watching her opponent from afar, Sita could have sworn that her opponent was only getting faster and faster by the second. Right now, they were so fast that Achilles might have a challenger for his title as the fastest Hero.
But even if the Servant was that fast, no, it was more because they were that fast-that Sita pursed her lips, sighing unhappily. "Another missed opportunity…"
“Did you say something?” Tawara's voice distracted Sita from her dissatisfaction, almost making her want to display it to the other Servant, but she only shook her head slightly, looking away from the Servant, which she obviously couldn't hurt, toward Camelot.
Sita was a Servant with a subdued personality, the kind of Servant whose existence is ruled by a rational mind, or to put in a better way, an introvert. No one can ever quite recall what she has done in the past during common projects or parties, where she would sit quietly in a corner, occasionally chatting in a low voice to one person or another.
This was expected, even in a sense obvious, after all, what was Sita's legend? Rama's faithful beloved wife, that's all.
She didn't command armies, she didn't lead philosophical discourses, she didn't teach magic or promote the growth of other heroes or rule the state. She just… was a faithful wife. The only reason she can fight at all is entirely due to her husband’s legend
Quite expectedly, against the background of other Heroes who became famous for their personal achievements, simply being a ‘faithful wife’ Sita found herself quite lost when placed in a battlefield.
And… That suited Sita just fine.
After all, being such a ‘background character’, placed against the background of legendary Kings, scholars and other Heroes, Sita was spared the need to always be in the spotlight. If she could perform her duties without being the center of attention? So much the better.
If she was required to simply shoot the enemy without making incredible leadership speeches, inspiring armies, or making long philosophical arguments, then that was just what Sita was happy to do.
The only thing that really meant anything to Sita was her beloved Rama.
And as fate would have it, her beloved Rama was separated from her by a powerful curse and was now so far away from her, that, barring a miracle, or even that, Sita had no chance of reaching him. Though, that was not entirely correct, no chance at all? No, perhaps it would be wrong to say so, there was certainly a chance for Sita. Ainz, her new Master, could provide Sita a path to find her lover.
But he was only willing to do so, and rightfully so, if Sita demonstrated her usefulness, as a reward for Sita's service. And that, in turn, meant that Sita had to demonstrate such a quality. She was entirely desperate for it.
Of course, it is entirely possible that such a Miracle is beyond even her Master’s power, Sita had never asked. First is because of her sense of propriety, asking such a thing without even having accomplished anything is too presumptuous after all. And second… if indeed her Rama was farther than even her Master could reach, she would prefer to know it only when she had done all that is possible to achieve it.
Her heart couldn’t bear it otherwise… And so, that is why the current situation vexes her deeply.
Her attempt to finish off the Servant moving toward Semiramis was unsuccessful.
Break Camelot's shields? Hah, she wished, maybe if she had a spare Holy Grail around? At best, Sita could provide a small window to break through the walls, no, mindless action would not bring her success.
So, after taking a closer look at her other fellow Servants, facing their own opponents in battle, Sita kept her bow at the ready, trying to find an opportunity where her help would most be needed.
And so, when she found Tawara Tota, seconds ago ready for battle, comfortably sitting on his bale of rice, looking to the world like he was having a picnic, Sita almost suffered an aneurysm. Tota was just sitting, doing nothing, one of his hands raised to his forehead like a visor, while he was looking at nothing in particular.
“What?!” Noticing Sita's annoyed gaze, Tawara only shrugged in response. "I'm tired of standing! Nothing important is going on at the moment anyway.”
At this remark, Sita could only sigh helplessly.
Though not an outstanding heroine in her own right… At least she has this thing called tact.
***
While Ainz and Medb possessed the most destructive potential out of all the Servants present in the Singularity, in this attack, they were not the main crux of this strike. It is to be expected of course, this first assault was nothing more than a distraction, Ainz and Medb’s role would only start when they breached Camelot’s outer defenses.
Their only job was to act as an Alpha Strike against the Goddess, neutralizing the greatest threat, and preventing her from attacking the other Servants, only cleaning the battlefield afterward after their success.
It was a simple and effective plan, it meant, however, that Ainz and Medb couldn’t be in the front lines right now.
The reason was twofold, first they need to preserve their strength. It would be no exaggeration to say that this fight with the Goddess would be the hardest they’ve fought yet since they arrived in Chaldea. Charging in on the front would only allow the Goddess’ Servant to sap their strength in ambushes and needless fights. It is simple, basic common sense that one should keep their Trump Cards for the hardest fights.
Second, they would pose as a possible threat. Just as the Goddess presented a great threat to any front the Servant’s might’ve opened up, so did by having Ainz and Medb in the back, it meant that they could react to any such surprise attack.
There would be no laxness or arrogance here, Ainz might have somewhat cottoned on to the fact that he might be quite powerful in this world, but it doesn’t mean that there isn’t anyone stronger than him. Arthur in YGGDRASIL, being a Raid Boss, would flatten Ainz fighting him solo in seconds flat, he would not take risks with the Arthur of this world.
When he faced the First Hassan, Ainz quickly realized that there are things that are still a threat to him. While he was already planning to keep his guard up, he did have to acknowledge that he has become somewhat lax in the past Singularities, he rather not has to retreat now, and in the future. It would not do his image as a leader any good if he were to start hiding behind his Servants’s back, hoping that his enemy would commit a mistake that allow Ainz to achieve victory.
Of course that didn't mean that, as in the days of his distraught paranoia, he planned to mindlessly sacrifice his Servants. If the situation called for it, he was ready to intervene in any battle. After all, he still had his inventory of consumables, and even his Noble Phantasm if the situation called for it.
Now for instance, faced with the seemingly impervious barrier created around Camelot, Ainz had started contemplating using Super-tier magic, no matter how disastrous its side-effect might be. The first reason why Ainz rather not use it in the first place.
After his travel in this new world, his Super-Tier Magic has become a lot more powerful, and permanent. Ainz shuddered to think what would happen if he cast something like Pandemonium or Pantheon, or even worse, Ia Shub-Niggurath. While not exactly the best spell when not facing a large group of weak mobs, even one of the Dark Young roaming around the world is definitely a catastrophe, not that Demons or Angels doing so are even better.
The second reason, of course, is that information is power, Ainz rather not give his enemies any more of it. He instead prefers to keep his trump cards until the end, until the decisive moment of the battle. It was simply common sense, which any man, let alone a commander, should have.
And the third part was that at this moment Medb, who was standing with Ainz, was all too fired up about the battle, or most likely her future rewards – and Ainz was forced to accommodate her.
Future plans for battle, what’s that? He has an all too excited Faerie Queen to handle!
“I did everything right, didn't I! I did everything right?!” Not a hint of the Medb she had been hours ago, a powerful ruler, full of arrogance and charisma, could be detected under even a microscope in the current circumstances. Her eyes flashing like a joyful child, or a rabid fan, hardly more dignified than Nitocris, Medb looked nothing more than a fan in front of her idol. Medb was almost bouncing on the spot, asking question after question.
If Medb had a tail, she'd probably be wagging it desperately from side to side like a dog, happy beyond belief just to have her master by her side.
“Yes, yes, Medb, you did well.” Ainz had no choice but to fend her off, repeating the same words over and over in a subdued but frantic fashion.
“Really?! Really?!” To see Medb, the Faerie Queen, Ruler of the Winter Court, or the Unkind Court, as the Players of YGGDRASIL calls it, practically squeaking with delight would have been a shock to anyone who knew Medb in the past.
But for Ainz, such a scene required no more than giving praise for Medb, for a cause or for nothing.
“Yes, yes, you're good, you're good.” Ainz repeated these words time after time, trying to salvage at least his dignity in the current situation. His inner composure, though, had long died a death of the brave and foolish, trying to contain the rush of emotions from the depths of his mind as various soft parts of Medb’s kept rubbing onto his body.
‘And this is the Medb that all the Yggdrasil players feared, including me!’ After a moment, the emotional flare inside Ainz's mind faded, but the lack of emotion could not save Ainz's mind from despairing at his current situation. ‘No, this is not normal, just not normal…’
Even the last time Medb had passionately declared her love, she had maintained some semblance of grandeur, though perhaps that was only because she hadn’t realized that Ainz was actually in the room with her. Not that Ainz would be telling her that fact anytime soon, she would be demanding an answer if he were to tell her that – his love life is already complicated enough, thank you very much!
Her height and her youthful face, giving the feeling of a girl blooming into her beauty, and her actions, definitely, made Medb look like one of those girls who show up at boy band concerts. The kinds of fans that desperately wave a ‘Please notice me!’ banner in the crowd. Ones that go into hysterics whenever one idol throws a meaningless phrase like "I love all my fans!" into the crowd.
If only. Medb was an infinite time, more dangerous than any rabid fans.
Medb was one of YGGDRASIL's more powerful bosses, a cunning ruler and an arrogant manipulator. In other words, she was the opposite of what she appeared to be now.
But the problem is that this understanding did not take away from the picture of what Medb looked like now. And neither did it take away from the fact that the ‘mad fan’ was now literally a meter away from the ‘lead singer’ himself, and there was no way he could escape her at the moment.
An image of Medb holding a bloody kitchen knife appeared in Ainz's mind… Only the kitchen knife was a World Item, created exclusively to kill him. A shudder ran through his back.
“Medb.” Ainz's suppression of emotion worked like clockwork, forcing his emotion to calm down, allowing him to shift his gaze to the fight in the distance. “I think you should concentrate on the mission at the moment…”
“Absolutely right, Ainz, absolutely.” Medb shifted her gaze to the battle between Servants, for a moment returning her serious and focused gaze, causing Ainz to exhale happily… Before his newfound confidence was shattered again, when Medb could not keep her gaze on the battle and once again were focused on himself. “Am I doing good? Yes, I'm doing good, aren't I?!”
“You're doing very well, Medb…” Ainz replied automatically, suddenly realizing that he had never wanted to plunge into a battle as much as he did now… Even fighting the Goddess in an ambush isn’t as deadly a position to be than where he is right now.
***
An open battle between armies was not a good place for Assassins, which, paradoxically, meant that it was an excellent place for an Assassin. That is, except, if they were to actually participate in the open battle. Even as a Servant, for the Assassin class, open combat was their weak point.
That is, of course, excluding either the most powerful and prominent of their class, or those who fit the Assassin class only by circumstance… Like, for example, half of the Archers who barely fit the Archer class. Or the Lancers, who only barely fit the Lancer class. Or the Riders, who also barely fit their class. And the Berserkers, who maintained excessive rationality for their class, which was supposed to consist of deranged heroes. And the Casters, whose class seemed to contain all sorts of Servants who had no place in the other classes. There’s no need to even mention the extra classes…
If you think about it, perhaps only the Sabers matched their class completely? There were many legendary swordsmen and legendary swords in history…
But where were we? Ah yes, the Assassins.
Assassins, as a class, rarely, if ever, approached open combat with other Servants, even other Masters or mages unless pushed into a corner. It’s in the very name of their class, Assassin. They were figures hiding in the shadows, wielding venom, dagger, or, in the case of modernity, a sniper rifle or garrote in hand as their tool of the trade. They are not warriors who fight in the open… Barring a few exceptions, that is – there are Assassins that fight with a sword in the open, for some reason.
Assassins, however, were still Servants. Though not the most powerful in open combat, each of them are still a hero, as far as that word applied to them at all at least, superior to the average man by orders of magnitude.
There were exceptions to every rule, though.
"So there are only thirty left alive…" Hassan squeezed her hand, feeling the crumbs of her strength return to her battered body, before she sighed.
Hassan, the one who had been the last of the Hassans before their order fell, had never been the most outstanding of all the Assassins. Not the strongest, not the fastest, not the smartest, even among humans and among Servants. No, perhaps it was more correct to say that among the Servants, her lackluster portfolio actually made her stand out instead.
After all, being weak among the strong was a very notable trait. Not that it made her in any way happy.
A Servant's Noble Phantasm must be their most powerful ability, a crystallized legend, something capable of reversing the outcome of a battle, a war, or changing the course of an entire story. If only this Noble Phantasm could manifest its power, a reversal could happen. How insignificant is it, then, for a Servant to have a Noble Phantasm, that only makes the Servant herself weaker while using it?
And even after her Noble Phantasm had ceased to function, her power returned only in a small amount. To be more exact, only thirty percent of her strength, not that even at one hundred percent of her strength, Hassan would stand out at all among the other Servants. No, at her peak Hassan was what they called the ‘bottom of the barrel’, but now, when her strength had dropped by more than three times?
Not to mention the Servants or even the Knights of Camelot, any confrontation with any enemy, even a mere soldier, could easily have ended in her death.
There was no place for Hassan in the assault on Camelot, not because she feared death, but because all she could do was to become a burden to the other Servants. At the same time, however, Hassan, even aware of her insignificance in this battle, could not afford to just be doing nothing at all.
Even if she was the worst of all the Hassans in the long years of the title's existence, the last of the Hassans under whose leadership the sect had met its demise… She still retained some shreds of pride.
Not for herself, but for that proud title she had once accepted and carried forward, not for herself, but for all those who had obeyed her orders all their lives. The title of Hassan.
So the girl's figure, with prominent muscles casting on her anthracite black skin and purple hair gathered in a high ponytail, continued to move through the desert.
Her movements were neither swift nor even dexterous, when compared to other Servants in her class. Certainly, she was weak, possessing only thirty percent of a Servant's strength, which could not be called ‘strong’ even during her peak, but she was still superior to ordinary humans. No longer so much that she could overwhelm them, but she could still sprint through the desert like that fastest Olympiad.
Hassan, rescued by Medb's accidental intervention, had no delusions about her abilities, but there was still something she could do. Even if it was just a scratch or a distraction for a moment that might throw off her opponent's concentration, at least Hassan could do it.
So her target was not Camelot or the Knights of the Goddess, whose clash with the other Servants had already occurred, but the figure of an opponent moving apart from everyone else. An incredibly fast Servant, like a rabid beast, moving in a straight line toward the Hanging Gardens of Semiramis, raising clouds of dust and leaving furrows after every step. Hassan had no chance of catching them, but at some point, their paths would cross.
In that remote place where Hassan's interference won't interfere with the other fights by striking a blow that the enemy doesn't expect. Perhaps it will result in nothing more than a scratch and a slight annoyance to the enemy… However, as long as that scratch is inflicted, as long as Hassan puts all of her strength and gives one hundred thousandth of a percent chance of victory to his allies, Hassan is fine with it.
Every Hassan was happy with this arrangement. All thirty of them that survived, that is.
***
The tip of the spear was Ainz and Medb, and the body that would allow them to pierce the Goddess’ heart was a collection of Servants under Arthuria's peculiar leadership.
Arthuria, Jacques, Mashu, and Bedivere were the four Servants that set out as the main front of the attack on Camelot. Arthuria and Jacques were strong Servants, capable of fighting most of the other Servants, while Mashu could provide support, or cover against ranged attacks. Her presence meant that any possible interference from the enemy Servants would be minimized as best as Mashu could.
Bedivere, on the other hand…
"I need to get to Camelot and finish what I started a long time ago with the Goddess.” It was his entire argument, and there was no way to convince him to back away. At worst, he would disobey commands, ignoring the battle lines, and rush to the Goddess in his lonesome, probably dying in his attempt.
Ainz, for his part, would not refuse Bedivere’s plea, his position in the battle plan was hard to determine anyway. He was not suited to the fast mobile squad of Scáthach and Medusa, nor did he possess long-range attacks so that he could be placed within the Hanging Gardens. Semiramis' protection was already provided by Sanzang, so putting him there to act as another shield was just a waste. And with Ainz himself not being able to accept him into his own squad, as any way you look at it, Bedivere was not suited to the role of a ‘secret weapon’.
So in the end, Ainz let him go into battle as part of the main squad. He could have died before he fulfilled his purpose, or he could have been useful to his squad, but either way he would have contributed to the battle, and that was all that mattered to both Ainz and Bedivere.
Mashu felt a little sorry to see Bedivere in this position. After all, she was usually the one in this position, as a second-string player, as someone that ‘might come in handy sometime.’ Only Bedivere's position was even worse than Mashu's. At least Mashu could be sure that Ainz would intervene at the right moment, if the situation got out of hand, Bedivere, on the other hand, was deprived of that insurance. Unlike for his own Servants, Ainz was not going to intervene if Bedivere's life was threatened… And his Servants, even Mashu herself, would not intervene either.
‘Don't judge yourself so badly, Mashu. Bedivere is not a bystander, he is a knight who has lived far longer than he should have, more than he would have wished for at all. He would not be offended, you need to worry about yourself more.’ Galahad's voice echoed in Mashu's head, distracting her from her gloomy thoughts. Not that the effectiveness of such an action was absolute, but Galahad's words did dull the shame and incomprehensible guilt in Mashu's head a bit, so she replied briefly. ‘Thank you.’
There were no more words from Galahad, and Mashu concentrated on the situation in front of her, looking at the back of the Servants in front of her.
Jacques' gait, well that was not correct, flying over the ground couldn’t really be called walking, was graceful. It was impossible to tell her real feelings from the manner of her movement and her calm, hardly smiling, duly polite smile. Whether she was excited about the battle, fearing the actions of the Goddess’ Servants, or she was just reflecting on her morning breakfast, making notes for the future. No information could be divined from her placid smile.
Even Arthuria, always a cold, immovable iceberg, was showing more emotion at the moment than Jacques was. Her movements were the same steady gait she always has, and not a muscle was out of place on her face. But, on closer inspection, one could see that Arthuria’s gaze was shifting slightly away from the target, as if trying to take in the details of Camelot. Trying to see if anything matches or differs from her own memory of her Camelot.
This was logical and expected. Even if Arthuria was a cold and attached to her work even in her ordinary life, she could not help feeling any feelings at all. Especially as she walked towards Camelot, her castle, that she thought was forever gone.
And though Mashu could not call herself Arthuria’s friend, she had already spent a long time with the taciturn Servant, ever since the First Singularity in fact. Mashu had learned to pick up even the smallest of details in her expression, as a survival instinct if nothing else.
However, even if those emotions really existed in Arthuria at the moment, and were not just imagined by Mashu’s stressed mind, she could not bring it up in conversation with Arthuria in any case.
In the first place, she was on a mission at the moment, moving toward Camelot and expecting the start of the battle at any moment. And secondly, because it would have been simply rude, Mashu had never had an impudent, pushy nature, and, as already said, Arthuria’s wasn’t her friend and Mashu was not one who could ask such a fairly personal question.
Therefore, even if Arthuria was experiencing any emotions or feelings that were gnawing at her at the moment, she was alone in the struggle with them.
However, Mashu's thoughts on Arthuria and her mental-emotional state did not last long. A moment later, Mashu's gaze stumbled upon a figure standing in her path, so deceptively distant, blocking the path to Camelot, but still the presence loomed. It was as if the Servant ahead of Mashu was itself a wall or shield, defending Camelot better than any army.
The mere sight of him took her breath away. The Servant before her was a warrior of incredible strength, one that made her involuntarily brace herself, while quickening her pace in an effort to escape as quickly as possible. His mere presence made Mashu think of Ainz and Solomon…
Of course, the comparison was not quite right. Ainz and Solomon surpassed the Servant before Mashu by orders of magnitude, when Mashu were in the presence of the two Magi, as she did back in London, Mashu felt helpless. She felt like a kite caught in a storm, that no matter what she did, she would be absorbed into the storm, torn wildly in all directions. In a sense, it was a freeing sensation, as accepting the inevitable could take the weight off of a person's soul.
So when she had become a bystander in the battle between Solomon and Ainz Mashu could feel free, and absolutely meaningless.
The Servant before her was far inferior to those two titans, but comparing between them was not fair, perhaps the Servant before her was superior to all whom Mashu had ever seen before her. Arthuria’s halted step confirmed that suspicion.
“Lancelot.” Arthuria said quietly, as she looked at Lancelot’s figure. Judging by the fact that she had chosen to say anything at all, the presence of her faithful friend and traitor to her throne affected even her mind. “I knew it.”
Lancelot said nothing to Arthuria’s words. Raising an almost apologetic glance, he gave out probably the most pathetic and crumpled smile that could exist in this world, as if asking forgiveness for what he was about to do. For what he had already done. For what he had not done.
And for every little thing and for his own existence.
But such a pitiful smile and silent apologetic look could not make Mashu sympathize with him, for a moment later she felt her mind blanketed by a pure, ceaseless hatred of Lancelot.
Her mind was practically drowned in an ocean of anger in an instant, with the last of her strength, Mashu’s consciousness only managed to throw one last cry. ‘GALAHAD!’
‘GET HIM! I'LL BREAK HIS HEAD WITH MY SHIELD! LET ME HIT THAT FACE!’ Galahad, who usually kept a fairly calm and friendly attitude, roared, his words dripping with hate in Mashu's mind. Mashu could feel her mind gradually begin to churn in the tides of hatred, as her vision began to be tinged red. ‘THAT pathetic human imitation has too many unbroken bones in its insides!’
‘GALAHAD!’ Mashu forcefully shouted into her mind, trying to regain control of her body as the Servant raged – but it was useless. The mere sight of Lancelot made Galahad forget his chivalrous etiquette, Mashu, the mission, and everything else in an instant. A moment later, Mashu was startled to feel her limbs begin to move on their own, not obeying her will.
Whatever reason might be driving Galahad at the moment, those reflections receded into the background. Mashu had only a few moments, as long as she could resist Galahad's pressure, to try, if not to calm, at least to channel Galahad's anger in a different direction.
‘If you attack now, you won't give the others a chance to beat Lancelot!’ Mashu threw her last Hail Mary into the void, then, noticing for a moment that the thought resonated in Galahad's soul, immediately kept talking. ‘Lancelot is too strong and to defeat him we’ll need to with the others! That's the only way you can beat him out!’
Galahad's anger, upon hearing these words, did not recede, and for a moment Mashu feared the worst. However, after an agonizing second of silence, Mashu finally felt the invisible weight on her limbs begin to recede, as she could finally no longer feel the overwhelming rage.
‘When you start hitting him in the head with the shield, I'll take control then. I want to feel the sensations of it with my own hands!’ Galahad's voice echoed in Mashu's head, much more calm than before, and Mashu was finally able to sigh in relief, her fingers finally relaxing, which had clenched to the point of whiteness, trying to regain at least some semblance of self-control.
Galahad had, of course, mentioned his dislike for his father in the past, but he had never made Mashu realize how great it really was… And this unexpected discovery at the moment almost cost Mashu control of her body. She was starting to despise surprises.
Finally, regaining full control of her hands, Mashu glanced at Lancelot, feeling Galahad’s bout of hatred begin to rise in her soul, but this time she was able to control her body without much trouble, even when looking at Lancelot.
He caught her gaze and smiled another self-deprecating smile, then turned to Mashu. “I'm sorry too… Galahad.”
The next moment, another wave of hatred hit Mashu's mind, this time Mashu didn’t even have time to shout, and if Arthuria hadn't thrown herself into the fray first, the Shielder would probably have done it herself.
Comments
alassandro
Taking bets! Who will end as an easier to recognize paste, lancelot or tristan?
Techrono
Hype :)
