Calm (208) (Patreon)

After Bedivere's long and thorough retelling of his sad story, all Mashu could do was to bow her head and head in the direction of the small refugee camp, bearing the stares of fear and mistrust of the camps’ inhabitants. Mashu found the stares hard to bear, no matter how real or unreal the people might be.

After all, the people of this Singularity could not be called ‘real’ in the full sense of the word, simply by the very existence of the Singularity as a warping of Human History. It still doesn’t make the stares any less heavy, the apprehension, fear for their loved ones, nervousness, all of it felt like a crushing weight on her back.

‘Also, we'll have to explain ourselves to them about the dead Administrator.’ Galahad’s words piled on some more wood in the blazing fire of Mashu's mind, causing her to flinch. ‘And Rhongomyniad, probably also aimed our way, so yes, bad news all around…’

Bedivere told Mashu everything he could tell her about the Divine Spear… Not that it really helps much – the spear was more of a myth even for a Knight of the Round Table, the information was mostly made up of rumors, collated facts, and information Merlin had shared with him. They were astonishingly abundant, and yet mean surprisingly little.

While the amount of ‘information’ was abundant, being as they are rumors or simply snippets from Merlin, the information was self-contradictory, or simply gibberish without the full context. So much so, that after several attempts to explain to Mashu the nature of the Lion Goddess's proclaimed weapon, Galahad gave up, or, more accurately, paused to consider again the correct answer to her question. What the Rhongomyniad really was.

Mashu herself was also trying to think through the information she had been given, but she found it particularly difficult to do so in the background of Bedivere's story. A complex story that caused Mashu to change her expression from brooding to frowning every few seconds as she continued to wander through the empty camp.

‘Mashu, if you keep thinking so hard, you'll wrinkle your face like a raisin and age fifty years in a day. What would Ainz say then?’ Galahad used the simplest trick to distract Mashu, but even the simplest trick was enough to throw off Mashu's already dispersed concentration.

"I just want to help Bedivere, but… I don't see any way." Mashu sighed, then suddenly started sniffing as a certain aroma hit her nose. "Is it just me, or do I smell rice?"

‘And Bedivere can't be helped anymore. What has happened, happened, and all that remains for both of us at the moment is to put an end to his story.’ Galahad sighed, after which he parsed Mashu’s words, exclaiming as a certain aroma struck him too. ‘You know, you're right, it smells like rice! Only… I don't think there was any rice in this place the last time we saw the warehouses around here… If you can call the ramshackle hut that.’

While she liked reading, Mashu's knowledge doesn’t cover something as narrowly focused as the diet of the inhabitants of the Middle East in the time of the Crusades. But still, Mashu was still fairly certain that rice was clearly not part of the locales' usual diet.

However, following the intensifying scent, Mashu eventually crossed the path of a large group of people. It seems that at least half of the refugee camp had gathered into one crowd, blocking Mashu's view of what they were crowded around. Though even so, Mashu had no trouble seeing the tall muscular, broad-shouldered Archer, who towered two heads above everyone else, a mop of tousled hair in the middle of the crowd, observing them in a relaxed way.

“One at a time, one at a time, there's enough for all! Even with the glutton here, there’s enough for everyone!” He said loudly, as he tried to organize the large mass of people in a single line. Seeing his effort prove fruitless, Archer could only look with a scrunched up face at the probable cause for the crush of people. Even with the people crowding around, they seem to give the pale figure a wide berth, allowing her to eat in peace.

“Attendant gets his portion and leaves, and Arthuria, you’re on your tenth plate… Enough, I certainly have an endless bag, but I do not know whether it will be enough for you!”

“What's going on?” Mashu looked around at the crowd of people slowly moving in one direction in some semblance of an organized formation, and at the Archer and Arthuria eating calmly but with an inexorable pace. “And where did we get the rice?!”

“Tota," The procedurally generated archer number one said suddenly, making Mashu wince and turn to him.

“What?” She asked an important question, trying to understand how one word can explain all this.

“My comrade never tried to hide his legendary name or skills, so he didn't deny himself the use of his abilities this time.” Archer sighed. "Tawara Tota. That's his name.”

Mashu thought for a moment, remembering a legendary hero with that name, before the memory popped into her mind. Tawara Tota, aka ‘Tota Straw Sack’, the legendary archer of Japan, who once encountered a huge monster on a bridge. And seeing that it only peacefully continued to lie on the bridge over which he was about to pass, he stepped over the monster, which turned into a beautiful girl.

The girl, in turn, admiring the man's bravery, asked him for help in killing the giant centipede, which Tota did, killing it with three archery shots, for which, at the end of his legend, he was gifted with several treasures… Including an endless bag of rice, an unorthodox reward for an unorthodox hero.

‘Hmm, this is the first completely non-combat Noble Phantasm I've ever heard… And there are a lot of Heroes.’ Galahad's voice echoed in Mashu's head, sounding a little thoughtful. ‘Although, thinking of it another way, hmm… If he flips the endless sack of rice over and starts spilling the contents, endlessly, at some point in time he'll fill the whole world with it, won't he? Maybe that could be considered its combat application?’

For a second, Mashu imagined the tall, broad-shouldered Archer turning over the endless sack of rice. Then, day after day, as the spilled mountain of rice covered the entire world, before she shrugged away the image and returned to the real world. She wasn’t surprised to find herself standing in line with everyone else with a small bowl in her hands.

Not that Mashu required nourishment in her current form, but on the other hand she still enjoyed eating. And besides, she was clearly not taking any resources away from other people, the main feature of an endless bag of rice was that it was endless.

Besides, Arthuria was also back in line with a nonchalant look on her face, seemingly already for her eleventh serving, so Mashu didn't look any stranger or worse than anyone else doing it.

Plus Mashu hadn't had rice in a long enough time, and had just fought a battle, had almost been killed by Gawain, and had heard the full story of Bedivere. So she deserved at least that kind of compensation for all that work!

The line, meanwhile, continued to move gradually, with Mashu making her way toward Tawara, who continued to pour portion after portion, sighing sadly each time afterward. He seemed to be muttering to himself something like ‘and why couldn't she give me an endless keg of sake to go with it?’ though Mashu couldn’t be sure. Though, if he had endless rice, doesn’t it mean that he also has endless sake? It’s made out of rice after all, though Mashu supposed it’s different.

Regardless of his complaints, when the Mashu reached the front of the line, Tawara, even though he was tired of repeating the same actions, scooped a huge portion of rice, and unceremoniously slapped it into a plate. And then, picking it up in his hands, turned to his comrade, Generic Archer number one. “Arash, I’m going, finished with cooking, now the delivery is on you.”

“As I expected… Is it that hard for you not to call me by my name?” The Archer called Arash, the same procedurally generated archer number one, took a step in the place of Tawara, who moved through the mass of people like an icebreaker, walking at a steady pace to his goal. Namely, to the food plates. “That was the attempt to keep our names a secret… Although, I suppose it’s just my luck?”

‘Arash…’ Galahad inside Mashu echoed as she moved closer to the archer who had come to replace the past. ‘Wait, Arash, the legendary archer from Persia?!’

Mashu strained her memory again for a moment before the name clicked, causing Mashu to gasp in surprise.

Arash, the legendary hero of ancient Persia. Crowned as the best of all the archers of his land, the hero who ended the state of constant war in ancient Persia. According to legend, after decades long war between the many tribes of Persia, two rulers made an agreement that the border of their dominions will end where an arrow of an archer will fall.

And so Arash, having climbed the highest mountain, put his all into his shot that his arrow flew for forty days and several thousand kilometers, the act literally tearing his body apart. So great was his desire for peace and an end to the war that he would sacrifice his all to achieve it.

Hearing his legend and story paints a grand picture of an Archer, one where one expects a burly and gregarious figure. Mashu couldn’t quite suppress her surprise at having that preconception shattered so utterly.

The dreaded question of exactly why he looked like the most ordinary of all ordinary archers, however, was not answered.

However, Arash, not being privy to Mashu’s private thoughts, or really paying attention to anything else, simply handed Mashu a plate filled with steaming white rice. And only that. “I'm sorry, but we really have nothing but rice.”

“Erm, no problem…” Mashu answered automatically, picking her plate, before she started to wander around trying to find a place to at least sit down away from the crowd of people still lining up. Looking around, she spotted Tawara, leaning against the walls of one of the ramshackle buildings, eating his own plate of rice with chopsticks that he had found somewhere. Maybe he just carried a pair at all times?

Not wanting to disturb the busy cook, Mashu looked around some more, finding Arthuria, who was already back on the line again? What happened to her eleventh… Ah, she was still chewing on it, and she’s already on the line for her twelfth serving? Mashu began wondering about the supplies in Chaldea, worrying that they might not be enough, especially if they ever find another version of Arthuria…

“Is something bothering you?” Bedivere, who was carrying his own plate of rice, appeared in Mashu’s blind side, almost making her jump.

“Or do you just not like the taste of rice without any sides?”

“No, it's just… A lot has happened, there are a lot of things to chew on.” Mashu shook her head at the accidental joke, before finding a place to sit down and began eating the bland food. The rice is delicious, though, perfectly cooked as well, so there’s that.

“You could say that I'm just a little tired today… Mentally that is.”

“I understand…” Bedivere nodded solemnly at those words, agreeing with Mashu’s simple yet true assessment. “The battle with Tristan, and then the appearance of Gawain, and then my full story… I could understand why everything might seem overwhelming, having those happening in short succession. And you've only heard the short version before…”

“About that…” Mashu knew that the time for her confession had passed, and that the confession itself meant nothing in the current circumstances. But in the end she had decided to confess it to Bedivere in the past, it was too stupid now to just let her resolve dissipate. “Well… Bedivere, but I actually missed your story when you told me about it, and I felt bad asking you to repeat it, so I just pretended to know. Anyway, I'm sorry!”

Mashu apologized seriously, as if it wasn't something trivial, causing Bedivere to look at her, slightly surprised, as he then smiled slightly. “If you want an answer, then I forgive you… But you could have said nothing about it? It's not that important, not now when you’ve heard its full version anyway.”

“I guess…” Mashu looked away, embarrassed now by her unneeded apology, instead she tried to justify herself. “I just thought that you were so glad when I listened to your story, and it seemed important to you, and I let it pass my ears and… Anyway, here we are.”

“Heh.” Bedivere chuckled as Mashu’s cheek became red with embarrassment, and he had to stop himself from laughing loudly, not wanting to disturb Arthuria. Who, once again, was pulling the trick of making food disappear from her plate as she moved from the beginning to the end of the line. “It's funny… I spent a thousand years wandering, and something good happened to me only near the end of my journey.”

“The end?” Mashu looked at the Knight of the Round Table, who seemed to age a decade in the past ten seconds. “It's not the end, isn’t it? After you completed your task, wouldn’t you return to the Throne of Heroes after your death and one day you will appear again in some other world. You will have many other stories then wouldn’t you?”

“This…” Bedivere lowered his gaze to his hand, then turned to Arthuria, watching her thoughtfully, before smiling a little. "You're right. Maybe you're right, maybe there's a little nook in the Throne of Heroes even for a failure of a knight like me…”

Bedivere seemed to be lost in thought for a while as he looked at the horizon silently, before distracting himself again by returning to the already-cold portion of rice in his plate. “Tawara's sack might be endless, but I wouldn't risk betting that one against my king's appetite.”

Mashu, watching Arthuria back on the line again with Arash seeming to contemplate just giving her the whole batch of rice, was forced to agree.

***

The slow swaying motion of the palanquin moving on the sand dunes was almost hypnotizing to any outside observer. Medb's movements across the desert were smooth and unhurried, like a huge ship cutting through the waves, even Assassin felt her tired but repeatedly trained mind begin to drift off to sleep over the long journey to Ozymandias palace.

A place which Assassin herself did not want to go to, but what other choice does she have? After all, in her current form, she was not even a third-rate Servant, but, quite literally, one hundredth of a third-rate Servant. She’ll probably die if any of the Servants in the retinue look at her wrong.

That she had escaped in the past from her pursuers, from Gareth sent by order of the Lion Goddess, could, and should, be attributed primarily to miracles and accidental coincidences in reality. She definitely wouldn’t be attributing it to any sort of plan… Because she had none.

She was aware that she would most likely die on her mission of exploration, moreover, it could be said that that fate was sealed the moment she first realized that Camelot's lackeys had been sent for her.

The Assassins had nothing to offer the powerful figures around Camelot, the less said about actually fighting them the better. They could not offer their allegiance to the ideals of the Crusaders while maintaining the religious faith they had always held. They could offer no material benefit to Ozymandias, being only an abandoned bunch of overnight assassins on the cliffs of history, desperate to prolong the lives of the surrounding refugees, if only for a few extra days. And they could offer no way of resolving the conflict between Semiramis and the First, even if for any reason any of them would consider such sacrilege. The First, True Hassan, could destroy them at the very moment they would only decide to rebel against him and against their own roots, the fortress of Alamut.

All the Assassin sect had was their numbers. And so began their inexorable march to their doom, sacrificing themselves one by one, day by day, bleeding themselves out in a pointless attempt to prolong life for at least a day.

Staying in this kind of environment, it was to be expected that each Hassan's prospect of living was quite unambiguous. Every mission was not just potentially her last, this was always the norm for assassins – every mission had to be her last. Living for a second one, might as well be a miracle.

To be unexpectedly rescued by a group of unknown Servants in the midst of trying to sell her life for the highest possible price, was such a miracle. She was planning on winning, not by taking the lives of the servants of Camelot, but the seconds they would spend catching up with a fleeing Assassin and the time it would take to return home, after finishing her off.

Grim, but such was the life of Assassins.

Although, apart from the fact of the rescue itself, the unexpectedness and personalities of her rescuers should not have been underestimated. The three royal persons, Servants or not it shows, were immediately interested in the infirm Servant, who could only be called a Servant by a great misunderstanding.

And not a royal, but no less conspicuous person, Sanzang Xuanzang, the same monk, or, to be more exact, the same nun who had set out on a Journey to the West… This time, however, having gone much further than India and having lost her companions along the way.

“Something wrong?” The aforementioned Sanzang, traveling on foot, maintaining a radiant smile on her face as if she were experiencing perhaps the best journey of her life at this moment. Rather than wandering through the desert on her way to the chambers of one of the greatest rulers of all time, something that they actually are doing, spoke. The nun focusing her attention on the slow-walking Hassan.

“Tired?”

“No.” After a few seconds of thought, and no small amount of shock at being suddenly spoken to, Hassan answered simply, an unusual action for the very careful Assassin. Not that she could even technically make her situation worse, no matter what she said at the moment and no matter what situation she revealed, if they wanted her dead, she would be dead.

Nevertheless, she simply wanted the conversation to end quickly, being in the throngs of people that could kill her for any reason was not her preferred way to relax.

“Then why are you looking at me so intently?” Completely failing to catch the tone of Hassan's reply, Sanzang only smiled as she continued to move through the desert. Though perhaps Hassan should have guessed earlier that a Servant known for one great journey would not suddenly have trouble traveling. And no, Hassan was not staring at the nun, she was simply in the periphery of her vision, the consequence of traveling in the same direction.

In any case, Sanzang kept looking at Hassan, forcing her to answer, with honesty, even, which was a great luxury in the current situation. “I am worried about Ozymandias… Meeting him is not something I want to experience at all, though perhaps I should not worry about it? Meeting him is not something I would survive.”

Hearing this, Medb, who was lounging in her palanquin, previously barely paying attention to the Assassin, took her mind off her contemplation of the desert dunes intermingled with her amorous musings about Ainz, and looked at Hassan.

The simple action causing the Hassan to tense up inwardly.

“Why?” Sanzang asked a question, quite sincere, judging by her tone. Though then again, the nun probably has no deceiving bone in her body. “Ozymandias looks a little scary, of course, but he's not scary at all!”

A moment later, after parsing her words for a moment, Sanzang tried to correct herself. "I mean, he's scary, but not in a bad way. He's quite kind and generous… So there’s no reason for you to be afraid!”

Noticing the way that Nitocris, and Hassan couldn't help but recognize Ozymandias chief handmaiden, only nodded happily at these words in confirmation, Assassin could only whimper mirthlessly, unheeded by the others, under her nose.

Ozymandias was a ruler, indeed, a ruler of the highest of calibers – he was a merciful tyrant, but a tyrant nonetheless, with the arrogance and hubris to match. And so the best reaction of all possible, to a useless Assassin appearing in front of him, would probably be to order her out the door.

It’s also highly probable that he might just order her execution, Ozymandias’ relations with the Assassin Sect were strange to say the least.

Given that the First Hassan had appeared to Ozymandias before, not to kill, if that were the case, Ozymandias would be dead, but still leaving him ‘a mark to remember’. And, strangely enough, this had no effect on Ozymandias' relationship with the First Assassin, to be frank, Ozymandias had only developed a respect for him, a tremendous respect. But that didn’t mean that such respect extended to the rest of the Sect.

Ozymandias' attitude toward the Assassin Sect was not one of anger, as they are the True Hassan's followers, but instead of contempt as to his unworthy imitators, who dared to carry his name. In the past, Ozymandias had refused to grant aid to ‘bearers of the name unworthy of carrying it’.

“The Assassin Sect had some… past events with His Majesty.” Hassan replied in a streamlined manner, then looked away from Sanzang. On the other hand, when you think about it this way, the death at the hands of Ozymandias in his palace was essentially a delayed death at the hands of the dogs from Camelot. So, her fate hasn’t changed anyway – and since she had already accepted her fate, why worry about it?

The thought did make her steps a bit lighter, as grim as it might be.

Medb, who had been watching the scene unfold, turned her gaze then to Nitocris. “Ah yes, perhaps it will be a good trial for you.”

“Me?” Nitocris was a little surprised at Medb's words, but after a moment she was able to pull herself together, feeling her former willingness to help Ozymandias, whatever form it took, flared up again. Not that she could help Ozymandias specifically in this case, but any test of her qualities allowed her to show herself ready to help Ozymandias in his duties of government… If at least only to herself.

“I am ready!”

“In that case, you should have known that the test existed, instead of relying on my explicit indication that it exists in the first place.” Medb shook her head a little disappointed, taking the winds out of Nitocris’ sail a bit.

"But I suppose it's unreasonable to expect a child who only plays at being a ruler to have the mind of a ruler. Well, in this case at least, I should show you some pointers…”

Medb stuck out her body a little beyond her throne, her diminutive figure requiring her to lean on the armrests of her palanquin, which made her look like a child happily looking out the window of her parents' car. "Problem one. You were involved in saving Hassan, one way or another you’ve involved Ozymandias’ kingdom with the Assassin Sect.”

“I did almost nothing…” Nitocris remarked with a wide eyed-look of surprise and despondence, causing Sita to reach out and give Nitocris a little pat on the hair, dispelling the clouds over her head.

Medb, however, showed less clemency and merely nodded. "Yes, your contribution was almost nothing, but it existed. And though it meant nothing in a personal sense, in a formal sense it could not be ignored.”

“I participated too!” Sanzang, showing even less understanding of courtly, or any etiquette at all, speaks out as well, causing Medb to glare at her angrily, making her close her mouth immediately.

“I remembered.” Medb said, deeply unhappy, remembering Sanzang’s attack that sent Gareth away, making all the progress she had made moot. "But it is not in my interest to punish you for your foolishness now. But believe me, I have not forgotten.”

“What?” Sanzang blinked in incomprehension, but Medb had already put the conversation aside and returned to Nitocris.

“You've just saved a person, though that in itself is not a significant event in the eyes of Ozymandias, but if you refuse to support the person you rescued, it will reflect on your image as a ruler. Just as it would reflect on Ozymandias’ image, as you’re his subordinate. And, frankly, you can't refuse support for Hassan, since you are only one of those who put in the effort to save the Servant in the first place.”

Medb then struck one of her fingers up. “Worse yet, Ozymandias does not approve of the Hassans' existence, one that is, frankly speaking, a useless Servant, bringing her into his sanctum, in his palace. Something like that, can by no means be called a small move… Not to mention the fact that you are essentially bringing in an Assassin, to meet a ruler, one that had been actually assassinated in the past. I don’t need to explain to you how this could be construed, right?”

Nitocris, who had been eager to prove herself as a thoughtful ruler, immediately found herself paling at the potential great insult she had just given her liege. She was almost panicking, running her eyes about her surroundings, waiting for a clue from someone nearby. Seeing this, Medb could only sigh, drawing the inexperienced Pharaoh's attention.

“Stop panicking and start thinking, behave like a proper ruler. Take a moment to recognize the situation you find yourself in, consider each of the facts, and begin to look for a way out of it. Consider the actions you can take and the words you can still say to Ozymandias." Medb snapped her fingers, making Nitocris flinch.

As she returned to her palanquin, Medb noticed the questioning look from Sita. Seeing this, Medb made her palanquin move a bit ahead from the bunny-eared Pharaoh, as she sidled up to the Assassin and began speaking in hushed tones, a paled pallor on her face. Now that there’s no danger of Nitocris overhearing them, Medb addressed the red-haired Servant. “Yes, Sita?”

Sita only glanced at Medb, "Why lie? You know Ozymandias couldn’t care less about the Assassin Sect. Even the implied insult or threat you spoke of from Nitocris, he would probably only find funny. The Assassins posed as much a threat to him as a grain of sand, and Nitocris couldn’t even think of a bad thing about Ozymandias.”

Medb didn't need more explanation for her question, so she just sighed. "Ozymandias has asked for a favor, though he wouldn’t word it as such, in exchange for passage through his territory. He wanted information, and for me to take care of Nitocris and help her grow up… I'm just paying him for this favor, no more than that.”

“But Ozymandias loves Nitocris, he will accept any excuse she says.” Sita answered simply, well aware that Ozymandias did indeed have an extreme soft spot for the inexperienced ruler, and didn't hide it. The inexperienced Pharaoh was simply so far removed from being a Pharaoh that she couldn't see that, even when faced with the overt display of favoritism from Ozymandias.

“Because it would help Nitocris' growth, and there’s nothing better for that than self-reflection.” Medb sighed. “Whatever answer Nitocris comes to, Ozymandias will accept it. It's just a question of getting Nitocris to think, and then when Ozymandias accepts the result of her thinking and finds it satisfactory, and he won't do otherwise, Nitocris will receive confirmation of her judgment from Ozymandias. A reward for her work. The action and a reward, an attempt to train Nitocris to keep thinking and acting as the ruler should.”

A moment later, Medb felt a gaze on her, moving it to the side and meeting her gaze with Sanzang's sneaking, smiling half-smile. “What?”

“You're like Ozymandias, scary, but not in a bad way. You both are also very kind.” Sanzang nodded, causing Medb to cover her eyes irritably before opening them.

“By the way, oh, Buddha's disciple?” Medb blurted out in a smile. "I think I completely forgot to talk to you about the need to think on your part as well…”

“Um…” Sanzang, who instantly felt the shadow of death come over her, swallowed and tried to put a smile back on her face. "I'm sorry?”

“Oh, no, not yet, you’re not.” Medb answered calmly. "But I'm going to make you…”