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Fate of Excalibur (205)
🕑 Added 2023-03-13 01:49:12 +0000 UTCUntil 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!”
