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Chaldea and Staff: Smoking kills faster, than you think (192)
🕑 Added 2022-10-29 14:54:42 +0000 UTCMordred 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.
