Thoughts (197) (Patreon)

Scáthach watched her new acquaintance, Jacques, and Medusa with some wariness. The two newly acquainted Servants suddenly, seemingly instantly, found common grounds between each other, something that pegged her paranoia levels about the Undead involvement. At least it was somewhat buffered by being in the relatively familiar surroundings, allowing her to somewhat relax.

Well, somewhat.

It was incorrect to say that she was in a familiar environment – neither the crusaders, the cities, nor even the presence of people around her was familiar. But when comparing the current situation to the previous one, that is with enemies and allies that she was unsure of. Namely, the presence of Ainz behind her back and the undead monsters, who were also not her opponents, or maybe they were, Scáthach herself was no longer particularly sure of that. The current situation was at least clearer to Scáthach than before.

That was why Scáthach felt a little more relaxed – which, however, had no effect on her readiness for battle. Scáthach had long ago reached the point where she no longer needed to be tense for battle, her fighting abilities and skills existed separately and independently of her emotions or thinking. So, at any time, as soon as Jacques showed any ill-intent, Scáthach could deal with both her and the people around her in a moment.

As long as it wasn't required, Scáthach could devote her time to observing the Crusaders trying to go about their chores amidst the apocalypse.

With some surprise, she noticed among the warriors of Christ glimpses of people with non-European figures.

She paused for a few moments, seeing the figure of a tired middle-aged man with a distinctive red cross on a white cloak over his other clothes, helping a man with a striking Arab appearance to pull his bumpy wagon.

‘For obvious reasons, I cannot vouch for the completeness and accuracy of my knowledge of this time period and the relationship between the Crusaders and the people of these places. But I must say, I imagined the situation to be considerably less idyllic than such.’

Of course, there have been examples in history of the peaceful coexistence between different religious denominations, different nationalities, even between the conquerors and conquered. In addition, given the situation of the coming apocalypse, previous disagreements between different peoples might now seem to be nothing more than echoes of bygone days.

But they might also have been the catalyst for even more violent persecution or escalation of hatred.

From fighting for the rest of the resources, to mutual accusations that those different from themselves had been the original cause of the catastrophe.

Even given the overwhelming power of the Servants compared to ordinary humans, it was hard enough to keep people from choosing the second option – simply because that was the nature of humanity.

Therefore, watching such an idyllic scene, Scáthach found it a bit strange. Or was the problem being that she saw the bad in people, and didn't see the good?

Scáthach watched the people's actions for a few more seconds before she heard Jacques' voice unexpectedly. “Is something wrong?”

Scáthach, with all her incredible ability in combat and her stealth, couldn’t hide her social ineptitude even if she has Presence Concealment. So, needless to say, her attempt to furtively watch the goings-on of the humans failed miserably, which made Scáthach inwardly swear. “Nothing, just… surprised at how the Crusaders seem to be getting along with the locals.”

“Is there any reason to be surprised?” Jacques, who had left Medusa unchecked and unsupervised, as if she had complete confidence in her, had made her way to Scáthach. Which had made her stumble into watching the badly hidden Scáthach and her interest.

"They believe in the same god, though they came to it in different ways – petty differences mean nothing anymore. After all, they have a common enemy who has taken a city sacred to both of them, and the situation is too dangerous for them to afford to waste their energies on killing their own kind. Either they will all be saved, or no one will be saved – pragmatism and idealism working together for the first time in thousands of years of human existence. Of course what happens after is… Well, we’ll cross that bridge later.”

“Maybe if you look at it that way… There's nothing unusual about what's going on,” Scáthach shook her head slightly. Social psychology was not a part of the skills that Scáthach had developed after hundreds of years of battles with monsters. In fact, it might be the exact opposite, not that she was a social creature even before she went to the Island of Skye.

“But aren't humans impractical creatures? We cannot simply expect them to always do what is best – even if that alternative is to their own deaths. Humans are hardly creatures of logic at the best of times.”

“It's hard to argue with that assessment.” Jacques replied, moving her gaze a little further away, looking not at the people but somewhere in the distance, over the horizon, lost in her thoughts. The next time she spoke, it was as if she was into the void rather than addressing Scáthach. "Even now, Semiramis, Ozymandias and the sect of Assassins persist in their own beliefs…”

Scáthach was humming in thought at such a cliché development – in the face of end times, people would rather still fight for scraps rather than try to solve the crisis. That is, until a peculiar mention caught her attention. “The Assassin sect? I don't doubt that the likes of Semiramis and Ozymandias would have found a hundred reasons not to work together – but why would the Assassin sect refuse to work with you?”

“Religious differences…” Jacques answered simply, then turned her gaze to another Arab-looking merchant, trying to sell his small belongings to an attentive, non-Arab-looking customer.

Scáthach did not respond to these words. After all, the Assassin sect was primarily a religious organization, so to assume that its members, or most likely their leaders, were fanatical enough to refuse to cooperate with the Crusaders was not a surprise. The Crusaders, after all, were their main ideological opponents.

To accept a change in their religious dogmas… It was hard to imagine.

Still, the short meeting Scáthach had with the Administrator did make her think for a moment that he was able to cooperate regardless of religious differences, at least to save his people.

“It's strange, but I suppose it's not for me to judge the vicissitudes of people's religious beliefs,"

Scáthach could only shake her head slightly in the end, as if amazed at how amazing people were, able to create their own problems even when they shouldn't have existed at all. “Though, I thought that worshipers of the sects of Abrahamic religion would have fewer difficulties than this. At least on that front and in those conditions…”

“Abrahamic…?”  Jacques’ gaze was unfocused for a moment, as if trying to remember exactly what Scáthach was talking about, before turning to Scáthach with a surprisingly interested look, then slowly nodding, smiling slightly. “Yes, of course, that's exactly what we worship…”

***

Arthuria continued to silently stare into the distance, at the figure of Camelot in the distance, the city flickering with the unearthly light of the fairies and the wonderful castle at the center.

Arthuria seldom got lost in her own thoughts, closing herself off to outside stimuli. More accurately, outside observers could tell that Arthuria was always closed off, and therefore it could not be unequivocally said that she ‘withdrew’ into herself if she spent almost all her time in that state. Arthuria had always been seen as a figure that silently pondered her own thoughts, which she did not share with the outside world.

However, that did not mean that she was distracted in any way – Arthuria had always spent her silence in complete awareness of her surroundings. So to see her so lost in her thoughts was a rarity.

In the end, Arthuria simply did not experience any doubt in herself – self-assured in all her actions. It’s not that Arthuria was a ‘simple’ person, seldom thinking deeply, she simply lacks doubt. Arthuria was a person of entrenched convictions and long-held decisions. She had her beliefs, her plans, her personality – she did what she did and did not subject situations to lengthy analysis. She followed orders, and if there was no order, she acted as she usually did – tacitly, coldly, and aloof.

Whether it was in combat, Singularities, or her relationship with Mordred – all her possible thoughts had long since been considered, decisions made, and conclusions fully drawn.

So it could be said that Arthuria was seldom engaged precisely in pondering any thoughts, old or new.

And that was why it was so unusual for her to do just that, as she looked at her Camelot from afar. Seeing the familiar castle she knew was now not her own home, her native fortress, but the bastion of the enemy. Another of hers, ruling over knights with the names of her friends whom she knew so intimately, and seemed not to know at all.

Arthuria had not thought about it before, even knowing, thanks to the Throne of Heroes, that she was not the only Arthuria recorded in the Throne – and strictly speaking, was not even the ‘right’ version of the legendary King Arthur. She had not considered until now when she would face another Arthuria.

Maybe as an ally, or maybe even as an enemy… She had known about it intellectually, but it seems encountering it for real was another matter entirely. Still, Arthuria could not let herself ponder it too long, she would do as she always did.

Kill the other Arthuria, as the other Arthuria would also try her best to kill her herself.

What about her knights, her… Arthuria could even use such a strong word – friends? Those with whom had stood beside her in her tribulation and through hundreds of battles? Could she face Tristan, Galahad, Percival – in battle and kill them?

Yes, she would kill them – just as they would kill her, if given the chance. They are knights after all, obeying their King is their highest duty – and sentiments were to be put aside.

Her Camelot, her ancestral home? She is capable of pointing out every weakness in the castle, of knowing where best to lead troops and where to strike it down.

Nor would the other Arthuria be a problem, she was ready – as cold and detached as ever, having determined in advance every step she would take in their battle to best kill her other self.

At least, Arthuria always thought that she would be ready for this moment. That she would fight as she always had, kill as she always had, and if need be, sacrifice herself if necessary.

But why, if she had made her decision long ago, decided to ignore the weaknesses of her past self, to be that King Arthur who would remain in people's memory as the Black Tyrant – why, then, did she continue to gaze at Camelot in the distance? With what feelings was she looking at it? Arthuria didn't know that – and it annoyed her a little.

“My King?” Bedivere's voice distracted Arthuria from her thoughts, but she did not turn her head in his direction. Perhaps for practical reasons, wanting to continue watching Camelot for fear of an attack at any moment – perhaps for some other reason.

Arthuria continued to watch Camelot in silence, hearing Bedivere approaching her, and allowing him to come closer – just in reach of her blade. Unforgivably foolish, if Arthuria was planning to hurt him, and Arthuria could have been planning such a thing, there was every reason not to trust Bedivere in the current situation.

Of course, Bedivere’s position also meant that his blade could also reach Arthuria. And yet, Arthuria did not pull away a little further, allowing Bedivere to move closer. Arthuria could feel her hand itching, that she should unsheathe her blade, that Bedivere should not be trusted – and yet she did nothing but stare ahead. “My King?”

Arthuria waited a few moments before she slowly, almost reluctantly, started speaking. "I never thought I'd see Camelot again…”

“That is not our Camelot, my King.” Bedivere conveyed to her a perfectly simple and ordinary thought that Arthuria had also understood. Something, which, logically, could in no way provoke any emotional response in Arthuria’s soul.

And yet such words echoed a strange feeling inside Arthuria – it was an unpleasant feeling. Why? Arthuria herself could not make the reason out, and from the fact that Arthuria did not understand the reason why she was experiencing it – it was even more unpleasant for her.

“Arthuria ruled over Camelot, not me.” Arthuria finally spoke a little more harshly than usual, though it barely showed in her tone, facial expression, or the words she spoke. “Not in my current incarnation…”

“Absolutely, my King.” Bedivere bowed momentarily, making Arthuria feel another strange sensation. Arthuria had never seen Bedivere bow before this moment – and yet there was some excruciatingly familiar feeling inside her mind that Arthuria could not comprehend.

Arthuria turned sharply before heading away, unsure exactly where she was going at that moment. Was she moving toward something?

Or was she trying to move away from something?

***

Medb moved silently through the sand dunes of the desert, feeling her throne swaying gently as it passed the dunes.

She could have ordered her throne moved on the shoulders of her servants with such uniformity that a ball placed on the armrest of her throne would not have moved from its place. But she had found that she enjoyed the gentle swaying, adding a sort of light note of ‘travel’ as they moved.

Then again, it’s not like her ‘servants’ were actual living beings.

They were unintelligent, not even alive, but purely dense illusions, directly subject to her will and her mind, existing only as long as Medb herself needed them. Unlike her other retinue.

On one side is Sita – quiet, docile, and would perform her duties when she was supposed to, all the while not drawing attention to herself when she was not supposed to. In other words, an almost perfect subordinate for Medb, at least in terms of her behavior and personality, if not in terms of her usefulness.

Nitocris, on the other hand…

Medb could even admit, at least to herself, that she liked Nitocris in a way.

Not to the level where she would seriously consider her emotional or physical comfort, unless the situation called for it, of course. But it was a level enough to, in perhaps a whim, satisfy her thirst for new knowledge a little by pointing out errors in her thinking.

And this was an act borne of her own desire, without considering her previous agreement with Ozymandias. In other words, Medb could understand why exactly Ozymandias cared so much for this Servant, and why he had agreed to make such a seemingly disadvantageous arrangement on his part.

After all, with two rulers communicating clearly defined positions toward each other and perfectly capable of communicating within the necessary etiquette, neither of them would insult, first and foremost, themselves by stooping to petty intrigue behind each other's backs. The base act of bargaining out extra gold from an unlucky merchant, surviving solely by deception and escape from his angry visitors, beneath the two rulers. No, the respect of the two rulers was built on their openness when they needed to be open, and intrigue of a magnitude and tone that would suit rulers of their level.

In this case, however, the arrangement between Medb and Ozymandias was simple enough. In exchange for important information and a few necessary concessions, as well as forgiveness for her previous actions, Medb was obligated to take care of Nitocris. Whatever way ‘taking care’ would entail.

Not as a babysitter – Ozymandias would have burned with shame if he had wished his own Servant to be protected and cared for, not to mention what an insult that would have been to Nitocris herself. But simply as a guide as Nitocris traveled, in order to allow Nitocris to experience a little of what life in the ruler's court really was like.

In other words, Medb was obliged, at the very least, to prevent unduly sad consequences for Nitocris herself, but she was not obliged to feel sympathy for her. And yet she did.

It was somewhat amusing, unlike Ozymandias, who looked upon Nitocris not only as his younger counterpart, but as the child he might once have been – Medb was created inherently as she is. She is the perfect ruler and perfect queen of her court, created by Skadi at her will.

In other words, she was fundamentally incapable of experiencing the same feelings that Ozymandias felt when looking at Nitocris, just as the blind could not see and the deaf could not hear. And yet, strangely, looking at Nitocris, Medb felt at least some amusement and a new sense of sympathy. She shouldn’t, but she does – an amusing fact, at least to Medb herself.

A finding that she had no intention of sharing with Nitocris, of course. Some things, once said out loud, made no sense at all.

So Medb didn't devote any more time paying attention to the moping Nitocris, instead concentrating on her future plans, looking at the path ahead of her.

“I wonder if Ainz had already met his counterpart from this world.” How Ainz reacted to such a thing, or how the Old Man of the Mountain would react to Ainz – Medb didn't even bother to think about it, the ending would be the same. Even though he was strong for this world, the Old Man of the Mountain was still a creature bound by the logic of his own world, and so was limited in how important he was in the big picture.

In the greater picture, he was nothing against Ainz.

A moment later, Sita raised her hand, drawing attention to herself, causing Medb to stop before turning her gaze to see what had gained Sita’s attention.

“A detachment of people is approaching, from the north, along with a mighty Servant in pursuit of… An extremely weak Servant?" Sita said after a moment's scrutiny, looking somewhere far beyond the horizon, forcing Medb to ask for more detail. “Their composition? Whose side is being chased?”

“One of the Assassins is running away, as far as I can tell…” Sita was silent for a moment, as if trying to see figures from a distance that Medb herself could not see. "And chasing after her… I assume they are knights – they looked the part at least.”

Medb wondered for a moment at the strange report – could the knights be crusader knights? Not that it was impossible, given what Ozymandias had said – but more likely the knights were part of the Lion Goddess’ armies. They were the only ones who were wasting time at the moment, searching for and destroying the Assassins. Considering the Assassins' strategy of buying time by diversely sabotaging all fronts, worked at least enough to buy time for the dying sect at the cost of their own blood, once they became the hunted.

They would also do their duties with grim acceptance, buying some time to prepare for the final clash with the Lion Goddess.

Alas, desperate times called for desperate measures – including sacrificing the weak to buy time to prepare the forces of the strong.

Medb thought about what they should do for a moment – should she interfere with what was happening at the moment? Medb could defeat the Servant pursuing Assassin, quite easily in fact. But, barring even her dislike of physical violence, doing such a thing would set off a chain of events that would have triggered the final battle – perhaps sooner than Ainz wished.

Furthermore, in return of gaining some disadvantage, Medb herself would gain nothing more than the worthless gratitude and trust of the Assassin sect, worth no more at the moment than their words expressing it.

By not doing so, however, Medb would have lost nothing more than the insignificant time she would have spent bypassing the enemy squad… In other words, the decision was easily made.

“Leave them – we should go around the enemy.” Medb gave the order before she caught Sita's gaze and realized instantly that it conveyed no pleasant information to her. “I take it that they are approaching us?”

As Medb had expected, Sita only nodded slightly at the question, causing Medb to sigh somewhat sadly at the way the current situation had taken a turn that Medb didn't approve of.

Medb dislikes having no control of the situation.

Medb wondered for a moment if it made sense to try to make verbal contact with her potential adversary. After all, there was a chance that the Lion Goddess’ knight would actually back down without starting a battle with Medb if she did not provoke the battle herself – especially given Nitocris’ presence as a symbol of Ozymandias diplomatic patronage. The Lion Goddess did not appear to be ready to start a battle with Ozymandias yet, distracted by the weak but still interfering Assassins.

Alas, that would unlikely come to pass – as in such a case, the unknown Assassin would surely try to take advantage of Medb’s presence and position to save themselves. And given the fact that it was unlikely that the Assassin was a sophisticated diplomat involved in the subtleties of diplomatic incidents – perhaps the only difference Medb could make was in which position she would start the battle in.

Medb allowed herself a moment of distraction, wondering. ‘What would Ainz do in my place?’

As a person not built for combat, though very capable of it, Medb preferred not to make mistakes she easily could have avoided, preferring instead to take advantage of the information gathered before by far more trained and experienced people. And so, after a moment, Medb nodded, turning to Sita. "Sita, shoot them with your Noble Phantasm.”

***

Ainz stared at the fortress, appearing in the distance thoughtfully, as the slowly hovering palace approached the desired destination.

The fortress he saw wasn't anything outstanding. It’s not that Ainz had seen many ancient castles, excluding in YGGDRASIL, of course – but the fortress, whose name had slipped his mind, didn't impress him with its appearance.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was currently in a flying fortress, and that's why he didn't feel any impressiveness from the other fortress. Of course, it’s very possible that the lack of grandiosity hid a deadly trap. Not that Ainz had the current presence of mind to care.

What Ainz did care about, though, was the approaching encounter with the unknown – someone Medb described as his ‘copy’ of this world.

Ainz had already taken an internal inventory of his image – of how Medb had most likely remembered him from YGGDRASIL. And, if the creature of this world was even slightly similar to how Ainz had played his character in YGGDRASIL, in those rare moments, of course, when he had played a character at all. If so, he wanted not to meet this Servant, but to run away from him.

No, of course, the soaring fortress and his own abilities gave him some confidence, but even being confident in his power, he just didn't want to meet a Servant like that, which he could theoretically resemble.

‘I don't know, maybe I should just turn around and leave? Tell Medb that I had met this Servant – she didn't say anything about killing him, did she? So I can just say I met with him – and then if we happen to meet in the future, just say that this Servant is pretending like we haven't met before?’ Ainz felt the grip of nervousness for a moment before his suppression of emotion forced him to calm down.

‘No, that's just stupid. I think I should prepare for a fight, just in case, and then at least try to have a dialogue with him afterwards or if I’m lucky before even. He's not going to throw himself at me as soon as he sees me, is he?’

Ainz could feel his shoulders drooped for a moment, before steeling himself, wanting to rip the band-aid as soon as possible, after casting all possible buffs of course. "Okay, the equipment is in place now, specs to the max… Okay, it can't get any worse – Gate!"

A moment later, a black portal appeared in front of him and as he took a step, he found himself in front of the fortress gate. Ainz didn't exactly know how he should start the conversation and meeting with the unknown Servant, but knows that he probably should have at least knocked on the unknown's door rather than teleporting directly into his castle.

So when he appeared in front of the castle, Ainz looked around, and then, not having thought of anything better, raised his hand to knock on the door.

“I've been waiting for you,” A voice that came simultaneously from nowhere and everywhere, made Ainz freeze. “Those who saw me, saw Death… But you won't be any more dead than you are now.”

‘Um, thank you?’ Ainz wasn't sure if that was a strange compliment or not, so he remained silent on the words of the speaker, then tensed inwardly as he saw the way the gate opened before him. Ainz was about to take a step inside, before realizing that beyond the passage he doesn’t see the expected light filled courtyard, only black impenetrable darkness.

‘Amazing, I saw the trap and still walked into it!’ Ainz almost rolled his eyes at his own mistake. Of course, his current form was protected against forced teleportation, but if he agreed to move himself – for example, by taking a step into the teleportation circle – his protection was useless. ‘At least this place doesn't seem to block teleportation – I can get out of here anytime if anything happens.’

“I am Death.” A moment later, Ainz realized that he was not alone in the dark place with invisible walls – before realizing another important piece of information. ‘What, an undead?!’

Confused, Ainz turned towards the skeletal figure, answering a little awkwardly. "Hello, Death, I’m Ainz.”