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Chaldea and Staff: F?r$i)& (210)
🕑 Added 2023-05-03 17:14:17 +0000 UTCJoan of Arc, the maiden saint of France, Heroic Spirit, and, more recently, Ruler class Servant of Ainz, after a while had settled herself in her life in Chaldea. Kneeling in front of her makeshift altar, she finished her day-prayers with a cross in front of the crucifix, Jean started on another in Chaldea.
Sadly, as it became apparent in her first week, there’s not much to do in the while halls of Chaldea.
Most of the Servants in Chaldea spent most of their time, bored out of their mind, making any way to fight it seemed even more paramount than saving Humanity. Gambling, alcohol-filled gatherings, tea parties, training slash sparring, and for some, in desperation – reading. Boredom was a powerful motivator for even Servants, the pinnacle of Humanity, leading to some even exploring activities that they would never consider before.
Sure, Chaldea is the most technologically advanced place on Earth, barring the Wandering Sea or Atlas, but sadly those two places are beyond reach – so all the Servants of Ainz were stuck trying to find things to occupy their time.
Desperation it seems could even mellow the most stringent of built-in aversion to some activities.
Even the most anti-social of Servants found themselves joining in on social activities, or the silliest of games. When Jeanne noticed that items needed for bead-weaving were strewn out on one of the empty rooms, she knew that no hobbies were out of consideration to fight the boredom. It seems that without any other choice, the inhabitants of Chaldea were forced to face their surroundings and if not change, at least to discover new personal facets in themselves.
Take Jeanne herself for instance. Sure, she had no great love for battles and duels… Though neither did she have any fear nor disgust of them. Rather, Jeanne could say that she treated them quite reluctantly, if not pragmatically. If there was a need to fight, she was ready to fight, if not, she was unwilling to do so.
However, with nothing else to do, Jeanne was forced to find new ways to spend her time, even a saint, and she found herself participating in regular spars. Any believers that believe her to be a Saint might be surprised that she would participate in such activities. Not that she would call herself a Saint in any way, even naming herself as such was already blasphemy in its own way.
In fact, she could not spend all her time in prayer or reading the Bible.
While the people that know her as she was a peasant, therefore used to boredom would be surprised. It’s not like she has a lot of free time to even be bored – in a medieval household, there’s always something to do, it’s not like she spent most of her time praying even then.
A day, two, three, even a week perhaps, she could spend reading the Lord’s teachings, but after a week with nothing else to do, even Jeanne had a desire to do something else, at least for a while. Before, she had a renewed desire to read the writings of the Holy Fathers of the Church.
And so, with Jalter, her… Actually that’s a good question, who was Jalter to Jeanne?
The most correct answer would probably be to say that Jalter was simply the alter version of Joan of Arc, herself, but that would sound… Too easy, if not insulting, to Jalter herself. She would probably start burning stuff if somebody even tried to call her that.
Jalter was not ‘Joan of Arc Alter’, even less was she just a re-colored clone or a brainless mannequin, only capable of being a shadow of Joan of Arc. She was her own person, she had her own tastes and her own thoughts, her own plans and her own attitude toward the world around her.
Any way you look at it, Jalter was more than a copy of Jeanne in monotones.
In that case, the only proper way Jeanne should treat Jalter was… Hmm, perhaps… As a younger sister?
Not that Jeanne could really find a reason why she thought of Jalter as someone ‘younger’, at least the sister part makes sense. They both looked quite similar to each other, and both were born at the same moment, based on the real historical figure, Joan of Arc, at the moment of her death.
But perhaps Jeanne just thought Jalter as a younger sister, was because she… Doesn’t really act like an adult.
Jeanne was born carrying within her memories, the memory, and personality of Joan of Arc, her entire life, while the moments of life that gave birth to Jalter represented only her memories of the times of her captivity and execution. In other words, Joan carried with her decades of memories, while Jalter only a few months, in the best of cases. Perhaps that's why Jeanne could say that Jalter was her ‘younger’ sister and not her twin.
Even if their appearances were similar enough for such a comparison, their demeanor was almost literally world’s apart.
In any case, continuing an earlier thought, after Jeanne realized that she was not capable of existing solely by reading prayers and eating the occasional very delicious cafeteria lunch, Jalter began beckoning Jeanne to spar with her. And Jeanne had agreed, not so much wanting such a thing, but seeing no better way to spend her time.
After a while, sparring, which began more out of desperate boredom, became somewhat of a routine way to fight boredom, then a daily occurrence. And after a while, when Mordred, after her conversation with Hector, began to participate in sparring, it became, in fact, Jeanne's hobby.
Not something that she would spend all her time on, like the battle maniac Servants that she knew of, but after a long time spent with it, Jeanne suddenly realized that she quite liked this kind of activity. She began to notice that her mind, periodically, drifted from her thoughts to the analysis of a previous fight, she even began to talk about it with her usual sparring partner, Jalter. After a while, she suddenly realized that some of her thoughts consisted of trying to reason out the best way to get up through Jalter's defense, or analyze Mordred's parry.
One time, Hector, who had randomly decided to drop in on the girls, suddenly praised Jeanne for her battle savvy, making it sound like she was a professional fighter accustomed to combat!
She doesn’t know what to think about the praise.
Perhaps, that was just the reality of it. Jeanne had seen her share of battles as a human, and as a Servant her role had also involved battles under a Master’s orders, so it was probably not unusual for someone to assess her as a professional warrior.
But Jeanne had never noticed her love of battles before!
And suddenly now, when Jeanne found herself moving to the sparring ground, she was almost doing it… Joyfully. Almost anticipatory!
It was… Unusual – at least for Jeanne.
At the very least, Jeanne did not consider such a thing, a bad thing – just something unusual. Yes, unexpectedly, Jeanne realized that she, in general, liked to fight, so did Jalter – though that was perhaps not much of a surprise. At least, neither she nor Jalter were bloodthirsty or something like that.
Was there a point to spend her time philosophizing her newfound hobby this early in the morning? Was there some secret subtext beneath Jeanne's reasoning about it at this moment, in this place, in these circumstances?
Probably not. She was just really bored.
And even if there was one, Jeanne could not grasp it, and there was no one near her who could point her to that secret meaning and secret background, like Ainz, however… Did she need anyone to point out to her what was right and what was wrong, what she was supposed to feel and what was not, what she was supposed to do and what was not?
No, Jeanne probably didn't think she required someone telling her that she should have enjoyed her life in order for her to continue living it.
And so, on this very ordinary early morning, as she headed from her room to the sparring ground, Jeanne could not help herself, continuing to carry a small smile on her lips. Because, having any special meaning or not, her life wasn't so bad at the moment, no matter how you looked at it.
And that meant more to her than any philosophical metaphor or allegory in her life.
***
Serenity, the Hassan of Serenity, was a Hassan – the leader of the Assassin sect.
This title has been worn by the leaders of the Assassin sect since the days when the Old Man of the Mountain himself, the First Hassan, put the reins into the hands of his disciples and followers. And so the name Hassan became a title and a tradition, a symbol of leadership in the assassin sect.
But what exactly was behind this title, apart from it being the name of the first Assassin himself, the creator of the term itself and of the Assassin class?
First and foremost behind this title was power. Of course, the Assassin sect were not primitive barbarians, where only the strongest could climb to the ruling position by defeating all their enemies in a duel or something like that. But at the same time, one should not forget that power has always played a big role in any community, in the community of assassins especially.
Maybe not always direct physical strength, but still strength in some manner, direct, indirect, professional skills or even the intelligence of the assassin as well. The first Hassan was, and still is, the greatest of all Assassins, surpassing all his followers and rivals by a hundred leagues. Needless to say, no subsequent Hassan would have allowed themselves such dishonor as to defame the name of the legendary Assassin leader by proving to be a weakling.
No Hassan would allow themselves to be unable to confirm and retain his title, unable to demonstrate the best qualities among all his entourage, unable to show what an ‘Assassin’ really means.
Secondly, of course, were their leadership qualities. After all, a Hassan's position as a leader required not only personal strength, but also managerial ability. Not only did the Hassan have to be the best among all the followers of the Assassin sect, but also an unquestionable authority, a wise teacher, and an inspiring leader for all other Assassins.
And in third place… Were to possess many stories.
“And after that he never slipped from his pants, even in the bathroom.” Hassan of the Cursed Arm told his story in his usual monotone, as if he felt nothing for his story, but in the depths of his voice one could clearly detect joy, even a kind of pride, in his accomplishment. After all, any professional, even the most stoic and modest one, would be proud of a job well done – even if the job was killing people.
Hassan, in this case, was no exception. So, despite his attempt to show with all his might something like ‘I did nothing exceptional’ in his tone of voice and demeanor, he too could not completely extinguish his impulsive desire to show off. If not on his abilities, but in his capability of fulfilling the duties as the sect leader.
Besides, it’s the first time that Hassan of the Cursed Arm had told his stories.
Serenity only nodded at these words, keeping a small smile on her face, partly from Hassan's story and partly from the way she could see that he was torn inwardly between wanting to boast about his achievements and remaining humble. Still, Serenity would not be stingy with her compliments.
"You showed yourself well then.”
Hassan only nodded briefly at Serenity’s praise, seeming a little embarrassed at the praise from his colleague and at the same time proud that his achievements had been recognized. Before giving Serenity the opportunity to brag about her past achievements as well.
"And you, Serenity? Do you have a story you're most proud of?”
After his questions, Serenity thought about it for a moment. Was there a murder story in her life that she was most proud of?
Certainly, Serenity had completed many assassinations in her life, from the lowly elimination of patrolmen or soldiers who had broken away from the general convoy to important warlords and leaders. As befitting her position as a Hassan, she had assassinated several prominent political and diplomatic figures, including aristocrats and high-ranking dignitaries. And virtually all of her missions were accomplished, if not ‘perfectly’, then more than satisfactorily.
Most of them went one way or another according to plan, with minimal deviations one way or the other, and all ended in the death of her target.
Were there any outstanding missions in her past, those that required the most complicated plan or lengthy training to accomplish it? Well, pretty much all of her missions required ample preparations in training, plans, or skills, but a few of Serenity's missions did stand out as the most ‘difficult’. Should Serenity then boast of them?
Perhaps… No.
For certain, Serenity considered those missions flawlessly accomplished, and she was quite aware to herself that to do those missions without her skills or in the absence of her plans would have been difficult, if not impossible. But that did not mean that her accomplishment made her proud of them enough to brag. Implicitly or explicitly.
The satisfaction of a job well done? Sure, but not the kind of pride that thinking about it would have made her want to talk about her accomplishments – she simply lacked the personality.
Serenity, sitting silently across from Hassan for a dozen seconds now, burrowed deeper into her memory, trying to recall or bring to light her previous missions – maybe something funny would do? Not that an assassin's life was filled with humor, but a bit of black comedy? She could probably find some in her memory.
But despite the amusingness of some of her missions, enough to make her chuckle somewhat, Serenity once again did not consider such a past as something she could be ‘proud’ of.
Serenity burrowed into her mind even deeper, trying to recall an event that she could truly say she was proud of… Before suddenly a fragmented memory floated to the surface of her mind – a very recent mission in fact, the outcome of which she could truly be proud of.
Because that pride was not in the target she had killed, nor in her demonstrated fighting qualities, but in the fact that she had been able to follow orders, able to turn a total loss into a victory. And, most importantly, that she was able to act on her Master's orders.
So, with a little smile, Serenity began her story. “In the very first Singularity, in Orleans…”
***
When Karna first saw this Servant of Ainz, the Servant that had come to the Singularity, Angrboda, she had introduced herself as his mother.
Of course, as might be expected, Karna did not accept her as his mother, how could he, if he did such a thing, wouldn’t it mean refusing his real mother, Kunti?
However, even when he explicitly rejected Angrboda's claim, she simply ignored his declaration and continued to refer to Karna as her son.
Moreover, Angrboda, having intervened in his eternal destined duel with his brother, calling it her motherly interference between fighting children, which takes form in her tossing them both about in the battlefield like rag dolls. The act would’ve easily killed most Servants and could have been considered a full-fledged battle, no matter how ‘gently’ the giant throws them around.
No matter how indestructible or impervious Karna might be, being tossed around was still not an enjoyable time – at least after his summoning in Chaldea Angrboda had not shown any predilection of repeating her actions… Hopefully, Arjuna would not be summoned anytime soon to test that claim.
Still, Angrboda continued to act as carefree with him as she had before, as she did in her time within Edison’s demesne. She would inquire insistently about whether he was getting the right amount of calories, whether he liked any girls in Chaldea, and sending him to fight periodically at the training ground. That is ‘in order to provide the child with all the skills he would need in the future’.
No matter his protestation that he was not her son, the giant seemed very capable of ignoring it.
Faced with something like that, Karna eventually decided to just give up and just accept that Angrboda could not be changed so easily. That she indeed believed that he was her son, and that this could only be accepted, but not fought against in any way.
"At least…” Thought Karna at the time. “She's the only one like that here…”
What, in this case, was it telling that, at this moment, Karna was looking at Kiyohime, who was trying to pull a sweater, knitted by herself, over his armor, one that is soldered to his skin?
Karna wasn't sure whether that said more about his personality or his condition, or maybe about his surroundings?
Couldn't all the girls in the world be insane and mistake Karna for their son? Maybe the problem was his face, maybe he had a face like… Apparently, all the children in the world?
“Kiyohime," Archer's voice interrupted Karna's thoughts, interrupting Kiyohime’s desperate attempt to pull the sweater over Karna's armor. “You're going to rip the sweater.”
“Karna, why can't you just take off your armor? I knitted you a beautiful sweater, and you want to upset your mother like this?”
“I'm sorry.” Karna, as ridiculous as the action might be, thought about it for a moment. His armor was fused to his body, but if he tried hard enough, he could rip it off, along with the skin and a bit of the upper flesh. A bit bloody, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd done something like this, “If you wish, I can ask Master for permission to rip my flesh off…”
Of course, doing so would activate his third Noble Phantasm, and probably wouldn’t end well for the inhabitants of Chaldea that were not a defensive focused Servant. A Sun appearing in the middle of your living space would be very detrimental to living conditions, to say the least.
Karna being Karna, the hero of Charity, simply thought to fulfill the wishes of Kiyohime.
“Wait! Well, let's not do that!” The white-haired Archer, seeing Karna move to do just that, intervened sharply, and then decided to take the bull by the horns, or the dragon by the tail this time as it were.
”Kiyohime, why did you even decide to knit Karna a sweater? And, even more importantly, why did you drag me here to watch you try to put it on Karna!”
“Mp-hmm!” Kiyohime tried even harder to pull down the sweater over Karna once more and failed, then looked annoyed at the sleeve that got stuck on the metal shoulder pads of Karna’s armor as she tried to pull it over. After that failure, she then glanced at Archer in annoyance.
"I wanted to show Anchin that I cared for the other Servants of his, so he could see what a good wife I am!”
“I have so many things to point out, but…” Archer looked up at Karna, who was looking at everything with a calm expression on his face, almost seeming oblivious to his current position, accepting Kiyohime’s ‘care’ with aplomb.
"But okay, never mind all that, the important thing is that I never understood what does it have to do with me?!”
“You stink of women” She said with no small amount of venom and fire, figuratively, thankfully. "And I can't stand the stench of your past life, so you were to help me with the right answers to stop Anchin being a playboy. Because Anchin is followed by many other women, and I wouldn't want him to smell like you do!”
At this, Archer, who hitherto had reacted to everything that happened to or around him with a cynical smile at best, suddenly gasped for air and then looked away. The act made Karna wonder inwardly if Kiyohime, the Berserker, whose class powers definitely did not include sanity, had hit the bull's eye.
“Ahem, never mind then.” Archer quickly tried to hide the inadvertent revelation about his past under the rug before turning a suspicious gaze on Kiyohime, "Anyway, what about asking me about my plans first, before grabbing my hand and leading me into another room? I was actually busy… I could also use not having a heart attack.”
“Busy?” Kiyohime raised one eyebrow and then snorted in an unladylike way. "Whatever you've been doing, there’s nothing more important than saving Anchin from the clutches of the scheming minxes – it comes before any of your other worries!”
“Setting aside whether or not Ainz needs rescuing, and if he does need rescuing, whether I can even rescue him from such a situation is still in question.” Archer sighed, and Karna had to accede, trouble that Ainz could not solve would be quite the sight.
“Furthermore, I don't think the others would let you do such a thing, ‘minx’ chasing Ainz or not, the others are expecting a tray of food and alcohol…”
“Others?” Kiyohime thought for a second before she heard a heartbreaking roar that swept through Chaldea, not unlike what Kiyohime’s dragon form could. True, if Kiyohime's infernal roar was filled with anger, then this monster's roar was filled with… Well also, perhaps, anger, only of a slightly different type. “AAAAAARCHEEEEEEEEER! WHERE'S MY FUCKING BEEEEEER!”
“That’s Drake.” Archer had no trouble recognizing the monster's roar, turning to Kiyohime. “She is not here to save me, but I had to get her beer, and if she didn't get that beer, then…”
“Archer, where are our cookies!?” A quieter voice, but no less expressive of its anger, resounded in stereo, reverberating on two frequencies at once, as if an echo answered the speaker. Or, what was possible in the current insane situation, two speakers having exactly the same voice and tone, up to the particular moment of pronouncing individual sounds, echoed Drake’s wrathful intent.
“And that’s Nero One and Nero Two.” Archer calmly continued, explaining to Kiyohime all the problematic aspects of keeping him in captivity at the moment. “And besides the cookies…”
“MEAT! WHERE'S MY ROASTED BOAR?!” Cu Chulainn's voice echoed after the rest of the voices, causing Kiyohime to glance at Archer, as if wondering if he had created a small private army in Chaldea behind Ainz's back.
“There's a silver lining to being in charge, and mostly in being the only decent cook in Chaldea.” Archer spoke calmly, causing Kiyohime to sigh as she glanced at Karna, who still had his hands raised, the barely put on sweater on his shoulders, stuck.
Sith one last sigh, she turned around and walked away, cutting her losses, looking for the next victim of her opportunity to show her ‘familyness’ to Ainz, not bothering to apologize or say anything else to Karna or Archer.
Archer, watching this, shifted his gaze to Karna, who still had his hands up, and then nodded, "You're settling in well, aren't you?”
Karna, thinking for a moment, put his hands down, pulling off his knitted sweater, but instead of throwing it away, he carefully rolled it up before pressing it against his chest and answering slowly. “I guess you could say that…”
Whether there was anything good in that fact, however, Karna wasn't sure.
***
Oda Nobunaga, Demon King, Undefeated General, Conqueror of the World… Was in a very compromising position.
Oda Nobunaga feared no one, fought against everyone and defeated everyone. But, looking into the eyes of the frail Medea, whose physical strength was so insignificant that in their current situation, with their current physical proximity, destroying her was not a problem of even a few seconds… Nobunaga felt a small stream of goosebumps running down her back.
Not from fear, at least not fully. It was not the paralyzing fear that made a fighter petrified as they saw a monster bearing down on them, but something more elemental. It was the fear one felt when faced with the hurricane roar of bullets, the thundering booming of explosions, and the grin of death staring into their face on the battlefield.
“I'm not asking for much.” Medea tried to smile, but because of her total unfamiliarity and inability to demonstrate her friendliness, instead of a smile, Medea's face appeared only the grin of a hungry beast that was having a stroke at this very moment.
“You are a Demon King, after all, are you not?”
Nobunaga's first instinct to these words was certainly to instantly lift her chin higher, saying something like ‘what else could I be?’. But, sensing inwardly that Medea wasn't going to just congratulate her on her beautiful title in case Nobunaga herself agreed, she chose to answer rather gently. Something that was anathema to the being that is Oda Nobunaga, but needs must, there’s no victory here.
“It's just a title.”
“But there's something demonic about you, isn't there?” Medea smiled again, this time even more aggressive and sinister, if such a thing were possible. If she were not the target of it, she might even compliment Medea about it.
“And you fought Ainz in the past, didn't you?”
“That's…” Nobunaga thought about denying it for a moment, calling that a fight would be quite far-fetched, a ‘fight’ meant that both participants had a chance to win, but she then just nodded.
“That's true, I did…”
“In that case, the only thing I can do here is ask a favor of you…” Medea tried to stretch out her smile, which made the expression on her face look like the grin of a mad beast trying to tear her face with his facial expression.
"Stheno and Euryale are the only beings alive who have survived, as far as that word could apply to the two sisters, an encounter with Ainz. And I've already done all the necessary research on them, so that leaves only you… Of those available to me at the moment, at least.”
Nobunaga's first reflex was to instantly dismiss Medea's words, and perhaps begin running, but in the end, her curiosity got the better of her. “Why would you do that? “
At Nobunaga’s question, Medea tried to stretch her smile even further, but realizing that she had long ago crossed into painful grimace territory, she stopped forcing her expression into unnatural shapes. At an instant, the too wide smile turned to the cold, almost devoid of emotion, an expression Medea usually sports. That is, except for the anger burning brightly in her eyes.
And while such an expression could by no means be called 'friendly' or 'hospitable', at least Nobunaga could tell for sure that this face caused her far less trouble and revulsion than Medea's 'friendly smile'.
“Baal.” Medea spoke the name so hatefully and with revulsion, it was as if it was the most damned curse Medea could utter, and knowing the Servant Nobunaga could agree. Medea was looking for a way to get rid of the accursed Servant, hopefully permanently, the word not needing to be said. Suddenly, Nobunaga found this conversation very interesting.
“I’ve studied every book in Chaldea that dealt with demonology, even ones in the fiction category. After that, I eventually went on to study those who interacted with Ainz and his ‘special’ Servants in the most literal sense. I’ve already interviewed Stheno and Euryale… And you're next in line.”
The mention of Baal's name made Nobunaga cringe – every time anyone heard his name, any Servant or person had the unpleasant feeling that someone had dipped their face into a puddle of the most foul excrement. At least, everyone who knew who was being talked about, strictly speaking, Nobunaga was not against such a Servant dying.
Even if he had done nothing wrong against Nobunaga herself personally, he was just that disagreeable and foul.
Personal relationships played a great role in any society, even one as small as it existed in Chaldea – and Baal even rather enjoyed evoking the repulsive feeling he evoked in his acquaintances rather than tried to hide it. And yet he never did anything that would give reason to expel him. Never uttering direct insults or attacks, always holding to the very line where each of the Chaldean wanted to do something in response to his actions and words, but could not find the right justification to do so.
“What about Ainz?” Nobunaga thought for a moment, after all, Ainz… Cared about his Servants. Maybe it was all impersonal, of course, barring a few exceptions of course, and maybe he even cared about Baal as much as his other Servants too. As an example, Ainz cared even about Cainabel and Angrboda, but at least Medea could direct their dissatisfaction with Baal’s in Ainz's direction. It could hardly hurt the current situation…
“Do you seriously think Ainz doesn't know about this? Me wanting to kill Baal?” Medea, however, brushed Nobunaga's words aside as if they weren't even worth considering seriously.
“You think a genius of human relations who keeps countless complex plans in his mind could have missed something obvious like that? If he didn't stop Baal, then he was fine with his actions, and if he didn't stop me, then he was also fine with my actions.”
Medea looked intently at Nobunaga. "You already know that, don't you? Ainz likes to build obstacle courses in front of his Servants, to see who can advance and who would be left behind forever. It happened to the Gorgons, to you… And now to me.”
After thinking for a moment, Nobunaga was forced to admit the truth of the matter. After all, Ainz had indeed allowed the Gorgons to outgrow the Medusa sisters’ betrayal, and had allowed Nobunaga to go from soldier to general. And now he had also allowed Medea to plan to destroy Baal in order to… For what exactly?
Nobunaga glanced at Medea, to which she only nodded, coming to the same conclusion as Nobunaga. “Exactly. I plan to kill Baal, and then take his place as one of Ainz's lieutenants. Isn't that the only right course for the Witch of Betrayal?”
***
Breathing in the scent of freshly brewed green tea, Lancel reached for his mug, then took a small sip, enjoying the taste. “Servants, hmm… So energetic, so lively, so chaotic. Constantly running from one idea to another, constantly coming and going, changing themselves and changing the surrounding environment…”
Lancel looked down at his desk, more precisely at the white-furred animal at the top of it, silently staring before he sighed, "I don't understand them. I don't understand them at all. And I regret them. So sorry for them…”
“Fou!” The sound of a squeak on the verge of a snort from the furry little animal caused Lancel to take his eyes off his mug and, smiling sadly, run his hand over the creature's fur.
“I know, little one, I know.” Lancel smiled as he ran his hand down the creature's scruff before turning his gaze away from it.
“But gradually it's coming closer and closer.” Lancel covered his eyes as he emptied his cup of tea in one gulp before he stood up from his seat. “But for now… What about another detour around the Chaldea?”
“Fou!” The furry creature had no objection to those words.
***
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Comments
Giovanni Laurito
Scommetto che lancel e un agente della controforza
Bob
Y?!r m$%%*)$ i% p!r$ &?&%$&%&
Will
Yay, new ciphers .... >h*~~h$~$ mm$*$% c?!#@$|? Nayyy :( n.b some cypher couldn't be typed in reply, because it'll be treated as a comment mark and thus hid the rest of the cyphers :(
Micheal Scott
Lancel should be one of the 12 Seraphim, and a World Enemy - reference to him being one of 12 brothers and all that, but this is just speculation. Now, why he is in Chaldea, studying servants, and seemingly scheming against Ainz? No idea, but its fine. Oh, and the spat between Baal and Medea is very fun - though, I still think Baal will win at the end.
clagann
Lancel is definitely a person…. This is the extent of what I know about them
