Road to Camelot (209) (Patreon)

Semiramis shifted her gaze to the silhouette of Camelot in the distance, or rather, to the place where Camelot should have been. "The Goddess panicked… Though, is there an ability to experience human emotion for a creature like her?"

All throughout the Singularity's existence, a delicate balance has been maintained in the territories of surviving humanity through a system of checks and balances between powerful and influential Servants. And those who were too small and unimportant for the other players to pay attention to them.

But as with all things, this balance was always very fragile. Each of the players, of the rulers maintaining their demesne, understood that the moment of conflict between them, the first and last battle, was near. And as the balance was broken irrevocably by Ainz’s and his Servants’ arrival in the Singularity, that time is fast approaching.

The Goddess of Camelot, King Arthur. Semiramis was not too privy to all aspects of her plans, but she knew that she had bidden her time, slowly preparing herself before… Whatever it was, the moment has arrived.

Seeing Camelot's white walls, literally engulfed by a light rising from the ground, reaching up to the sky, whatever plan The Lion Goddess had planned, is unfolding right now. The golden glow that suited the castle’s regal persona and would have looked so majestic in other conditions, right now, seemed almost nauseating.

The golden sunlight enveloping the castle only accentuated the emptiness around the walls, highlighting the empty streets, the dead silence over the city, and the silent knights on the walls, completely covered in armor. Their perfect stillness and silence, giving the impression of statues or robots waiting for orders, rather than living beings. An image that was supposed to look majestic now looked nothing more than alien, like a cursed ghost town inhabited by vengeful ghosts of the past. Instead of a green poisonous fog or a gray, dank haze, it was instead shrouded in bright sunlight so incongruous with its true nature.

"Plus, it provides an extra layer of protection for the Goddess." Semiramis did not know specifically what King Arthur was planning to do by locking herself in her castle, but whatever it was, she had spent her time and energy to surround her castle with the strongest protection she could.

Destroying the walls of Camelot, which had emerged overnight with King Arthur's appearance, was incredibly difficult, but at least they could be overcome by air or by magic. But this mocking golden glow that covered the Camelot, meant that getting inside was far more difficult than simply flying over the walls.

Her Hanging Gardens possessed enormous firepower, at the worst, it should have been enough to create at least a gap in Camelot's defenses. But other than that? Semiramis could only provide long-range support for the rest of the fight.

As a Servant, Semiramis was quite… Well, to preserve her royal credibility, it was easiest to say that Semiramis' talents lay in statesmanship, poison-making, and secret assassinations, definitely not in open combat. Semiramis could demonstrate all her outstanding power in two ways, either by using the Hanging Gardens, or by fighting inside her Hanging Gardens. Outside of them, Semiramis was a splendid poisoner, ruler, and schemer, but not the most outstanding of warriors.

After all, why should she have been? The barbaric craft of soldiering was supposed to be the lot of barbarians, a true ruler had to use the abilities and resources she was given by birthright, whether in negotiation or in battle.

And that, in turn, meant that after the first strike, making a gap in the defenses of her enemy, Semiramis herself had to withdraw from battle, at best attacking periodically from afar, without being able to intervene in the battle. And more importantly, without being able to be attacked in that battle.

In the end, in her position, high and far away, Semiramis was virtually safe. As far as that word was applicable in the current circumstances, at least.

Even assuming the possibility of someone daring to attack her fortress from afar, it could only be done with an attack comparable to a Noble Phantasm. And while Semiramis had no doubt that the Goddess would have enough mana to sustain such an ability, no living creature could trivially supply enough Mana for tens or hundreds of uses of such power. The Goddess herself perhaps could, but not any other Servants, no matter how many times the Goddess granted them her own power.

The only other way to disable her, as Ainz had shown, was to attack her inside her Garden, a feat more difficult than just attacking her Garden from afar. At such a great distance, if Semiramis even had the modicum of ability to use her fortress' attack capabilities, no Servant possessed the ability to cover such a distance without encountering Semiramis' return fire. If of course any in the Lion Goddess’ retinue possesses the ability to fly in the first place, though she would not discount the possibility.

Which is the reason why her Hanging Garden would float at the maximum distance she could afford, and she has no reason to ever bring her Garden close to the ground.

And even if, somehow, any enemy Servant managed to break through her defenses and were capable of breaсhing the walls of her Garden, the enemy would not find easy prey there.

Semiramis possessed the full extent of her capabilities within her Hanging Gardens, and she did not plan to yield to the other Servants in battle, at least in her own territory.

Of course, remembering Ainz, and how easily he had taken down her defenses and laid her low, Semiramis couldn't help but flinch. Perhaps she would have preferred one of the mighty warriors or magi to remain at her side after all.

Just in case the enemy did reach her abode, to appease her soul and body at the very least…

Still… It’s not like she could hope for a random appearance of an unknown ally out of nowhere, just as she shouldn't have been worried about an attack on her soaring Garden. All Semiramis could utter in the end was only that even in great plans, there was room for discreet accidents.

However, whether by magic, poison, or even the most barbaric of all killing methods, a blade at the neck, Semiramis planned to win.

Whatever the price she needs to pay for it.

***

Mashu was born and had lived her entire life in Chaldea. She grew up only seeing the white walls of Chaldea, she got her food from the dining room of Chaldea, her sunlight was the bulbs of Chaldea. Mashu has lived her whole life in Chaldea. One might say that Mashu was born, and had lived her entire life under protection, sheltered. It would be quite expected, then, that Mashu had grown up as a weak, unprepared girl for life in the outside world.

What does it mean, then? That when she looked at the impregnable walls of Camelot, one that her duty would mean that she had to breach, Mashu felt no fear, but instead… Some semblance of anticipation?

Not the anticipation of an adrenaline maniac or a hardened berserker, looking forward to their next fight, of course not. Neither does it mean that Mashu had lost her sense of self in her excitement – she still felt some small prick of nervousness, goosebumps running down her arms at the danger ahead of her, but she felt no fear. This is just yet another battle, yet another ‘impossible’ feat to perform, as she had encountered many times in the past.

But she survived them… How many fights had she experienced? How many phantasmagorical battles by great figures of the past, slaying kings, heroes, demons, gods. Even among the magi of today, those who had lived through things that could only be called ‘incredible’ to the ordinary commoners of this world, Mashu's story could gather enthusiastic applause, envy, or accusation of lying.

“Somehow I feel sad about this.” Mashu exhaled. "Fantastic books and movies will seem less exciting now, and it’s one of my hobbies… Although, Medusa hasn't given up her hobby of reading books, even though she herself is a legendary figure. Maybe that won't be such a problem for me either?"

The mere fact that, right now, just hours before a calamitous battle between monster and heroes, which in itself was quite possibly one of the events literally shaping the course of human history? Mashu could afford to be distracted by something as extraneous as thinking about literature, and spoke to the fact that Mashu had seriously changed from the moment she first found herself on the battlefield, her shield in hand.

‘Kids grow up so fast…’ Galahad's mocking comment flashed through Mashu's mind, but she didn't let Galahad spoil her mood, continuing to look toward Camelot, the castle engulfed in a golden glow.

‘Even realizing how bad this kind of Camelot is, I have to say, it looks beautiful.’ Galahad finally decided to drop the jokes and just say something plain. ‘If only you could see what Camelot really looked like, I think you would enjoy it… I truly wish I could go back there again.’

Ignoring the wisps of wistfulness in Galahad’s words, Mashu said nothing, looking at Camelot before her eyes, just a little more sadly than she had done in the past. Turning her head, she found her allies in the future battle – Tawara and Arash, and Arthuria silently, continuing to stare at Camelot, which was no longer her home.

‘They are prepared.’ Galahad voiced out after a few seconds, before explaining his thoughts. ‘The soldiers of Camelot, I mean. Not just the Knights of the Round Table, but the ordinary soldiers in Camelot. They would be fighting on their prepared ground, behind all the protection and help from the false King Arthur… It's going to be a big battle.’

Mashu did not respond, thinking for a moment.

Her role in a battle was not something complex – as a Shielder, her best place was to provide protection for the other Servants. Which was not so convenient in case of close combat, when the situation was changing every second and half the battle consisted of acrobatics. But could Mashu afford to stand aside from this battle, even if her contribution to the overall victory would not have been so great?

Yes, perhaps if her Class had turned out to be something like an Archer, then perhaps her usefulness would have been even greater. Or if she had a powerful attacking Noble Phantasm, which she would only need to use once to contribute to the battle. There were many ways in which she could’ve contributed if she were not a Shielder.

‘You have an indestructible shield, the real walls of Camelot, not this fake on holy ground, have some confidence in yourself.’ Galahad spoke, with a slightly encouraging tone, into Mashu's mind. ‘Your job is to give protection, and to hold any attack directed against you and your allies. As long as you do that, I'm sure you do enough to win.’

“Perhaps.” Mashu did not bother to argue, allowing herself to imagine for a moment, in place of her shield, a huge bow firing hundreds of arrows at Camelot. A thought which transformed into a memory of Sita, able to destroy any opponent with her Noble Phantasm, before dropping the thought. "But if only I had the strength to break down the walls of Camelot…”

‘Then you would be a cheater, and no one likes cheaters.’ Galahad chuckled in Mashu's mind, causing her to exhale through her nose in a not fully formed laugh. ‘Imagine Arthuria with impenetrable defenses, she would not be afraid of any traitor in that case, she would…’

In a flash so sudden that Mashu felt an imaginary whiplash, Galahad fell silent, then exhaled. ‘Forget that thought.’

"Why?" Galahad's sudden silence drew more attention from Mashu, making her interested.

‘Um, I just realized that this is exactly the wrong example to give…’ Galahad said slowly, after which, in a moment when Mashu focused on the image of an attentive peering into Galahad's soul, he gave up. ‘I mean… Arthuria did indeed once possess such an ability. She once had Avalon…’

"Avalon… The Blessed land?" Mashu thought for a moment before the image of a sheath appeared before her gaze, supplied by Galahad. Its glorious glow, spoke of its power. “The other side of the world, where magic is always alive, only the pure of heart and soul, could one day set foot there.”

‘And Arthuria possessed it, Avalon…’ Galahad sighed. ‘In a sense, bearing the light of Avalon, the light and essence of a beautiful land without suffering or pain, dispelling all the earthly burden that lay on its shoulders… Which also included absolute protection from all types of attack.’

Trying to comprehend what was said a moment later, Mashu could only utter a somewhat defeated groan. "And how am I supposed to compare to that…?"

‘Well, yes.’ Galahad had to say without much joy, before trying, unsuccessfully, to reassure Mashu. ‘Hey, but Bedivere has been to Avalon too, and he hasn't gotten anything significant, he's not even a Servant, just a human at the moment! So you're doing pretty well! At least you've got a shield and not replaced one arm with a prosthetic, be happy with the little things!’

After imagining her own arm replaced with a shield for a second, Mashu sighed, agreeing with Galahad. Not that her acceptance of her ‘good luck’ helped with regard to Arthuria possessing Avalon, at least it allowed her to reassure herself that her situation could’ve been worse.

At least she didn't get Bedivere's weaknesses, like his human body, long-lived as it might be, vulnerability. And in her current form, even if Mashu lacked the powerful attacking Noble Phantasm Bedivere possessed… At least she had something.

‘Although, thinking about him, Bedivere might be able to dispel the influence of the false King Arthur. He’s also carrying a piece of Avalon after all, so maybe…’ Galahad drifted off into his own head muttering all the while, inside Mashu's mind, causing Mashu to roll her eyes. “Galahad?”

‘What?’ After a moment, Mashu sent Galahad the image of the most venomous and potent stare she could imagine. "Shut up."

‘Of course!’ Galahad instantly retreated to the background of her mind, allowing Mashu, after a few seconds of meditation, to shed the problematic burden of thinking too much.

All she had to do was be a shield, hold back the tide, endure to the end.

And then all would end well.

***

Medusa stared thoughtfully at the clouds that floated leisurely over Camelot, glowing golden as they moved over the city before morphing into a dark haze that drifted across the sky a moment later.

Even in the current circumstances, Medusa could only say that she was… Probably enjoying the sight before her eyes.

Not like Scáthach did, with her predatory gaze tracking down any possible or imagined movement of the soldiers on Camelot's side. She was looking at the battlements in front of her like a hound preparing for a hunt, as if all she needed was the smallest movement of a prey, and she would rush forward until she caught her prey.

Rather, Medusa enjoyed the cool air ruffling her hair, as she sat on the stone parapet, gazing into the Camelot, burnishing under the light of twilight, as if illuminated by golden spotlights against the night sky.

Medusa felt nothing special as the great battle loomed. No nervousness, no anticipation, no fear, mostly based on the fact that Ainz, and a great number of other powerful allies, were on her side, and she herself was not at all defenseless. But even if she was destined to die in this battle, that did not particularly frighten Medusa.

Medusa was not someone who feared death.

Even so, though, perhaps, it was all about Ainz and faith. Or maybe the realization that there was no other possible outcome – Ainz will win, and Chaldea will put another mark on a mission successfully accomplished, and Humanity will be rid of another Singularity.

It would not happen at the snap of a finger, Medusa could not imagine a battle with the Servants of the false King Arthur being easy. The battle was to be not only grand, but difficult.

For a second, Medusa imagined what it would look like, if nothing else Scáthach, with only a gleam of rage and mirth showing in her eyes, would strike her spear into her opponent's body. And her opponent, determined to go up against Scáthach, with a cold and detached expression answering her back.

Medusa allowed herself to think about this more for a moment as her gaze found Scáthach at the edge of the Crusader settlement. Medusa knew of the Scáthach, knew of her sad story… At least sad from the point of view of the Scáthach herself.

Many people would have wished to swap places with her, to gain immortality for all eternity. And probably every one of them would eventually come to the same conclusions as Scáthach came to, their desire for immortality would be replaced by the desire to die for good.

Perhaps, in a sense, this could be considered an additional trait to Scáthach’s desire to fight, there was not only her essence as a bloodthirsty warrior, but also a desperate desire for death… A desire that was not destined to come true. At least, not in this battle.

Returning her thoughts again to Ainz, her master probably could grant Scáthach, one way or another, her wish. Medusa would not be surprised to note that for Ainz, Scáthach’s terrible curse was not only just a common thing for him, but a standard method of attack, but it was Ainz.

Apart from Ainz, however…

Medusa wondered for a second, what about her? Medusa could use her own abilities easily enough, and now without any risk of accidentally cursing her own allies. However, for all her incredible ability to pick the most ‘perfect’ monster for any hero, her power was finite. Anyone with enough power could break through the traps she laid, and barring that, in addition to strength, Medusa needed the knowledge of her opponent’s identity and ability to strike at their weakness.

And that in itself required information, skill, and ability.

Furthermore, the monsters Medusa created were not perfect in and of themselves. Her creation could be defeated through the use of a hidden trump card or extra abilities, Heroes in their every essence, after all, were those who could do the impossible. Slaying monsters that the Heroes were not supposed to be able to defeat were part and parcel of being a Hero.

And, if she were unlucky or careless, there exists the possibility that she could be defeated before she could create the Monster to fight the Hero.

Medusa could partly compensate for such weakness through her other Noble Phantasms, and partly by relying on her allies for protection, in this case, Scáthach. But for all her strength and potential, Medusa could not be called invincible, nor even the strongest – just one of many other strong Servants.

For example, Scáthach again, Medusa might have been able to hold her off, to bring things to a draw, especially given Ainz's potentially endless supply of mana. But achieving victory would be too far-fetched for her. Even the trick she had used against Alice, sealing her in a separate reality, was nearly impossible with Scáthach.

Scáthach was much more experienced in combat, much stronger physically, and the source and immortality came not from the fact of her existence as a warping of reality. A weakness which could have been sidestepped or used to Medusa’s advantage in battle, but from the fact that she had physically lost the ability to die or be destroyed, becoming one of the god-killing constants of this world.

Medusa could contain such a threat, but not destroy it, even using all her capabilities she had little chance of finally dealing with an adversary capable of surviving the death of the Sun or something even more ridiculous.

Most likely, to deal with such an opponent, Medusa would have needed outside help from some terrifyingly strong magus, wielding the secrets of curses, death, and necromancy… By a happy coincidence of conditions, Medusa knew one, and therefore need not worry even thinking about such a mental exercise of ‘what ifs’?

However, as the figure of the terrifying magus who had burst in battle to save Medusa, destroying her opponent, subjecting them, who had dared to raise his hand against her, thousands of terrifying tortures, appeared, Medusa dropped such thoughts. Turning her gaze again to Camelot, blazing with golden light.

The final battle of the Singularity was slowly approaching, step by step…

***

Ozymandias the Great, king of all kings, and god among the gods, did not rise from his throne a second after his alliance, nor in the hours before the battle began. Why should he? He knew of Camelot, of the Lion Goddess, of what the chambers of Arthur's castle had looked like in the past and what they looked like now.

The treaty was made, the alliance was achieved, and no more discussion or small receptions were required. The great Ozymandias had commanded that rooms in his palace be set aside for guests, and that was enough to recognize the rights of those arriving in his territory. Not as criminals, but as diplomats and allies.

In addition to the guests who arrived at the foot of his throne, however, Ozymandias had also met someone else. Taking as a fitting payment for his mercy, the time, strength, and intelligence of the ruler who had come to him, instructed her to take the first step in raising Nitocris to her position as Pharaoh. Medb.

Although Ozymandias the Godlike, king of all kings, was the greatest of all kings, which of course also meant that he was the greatest of all teachers, some things are simply impossible. Any mule driver could lead a mule to a river, but no mule driver could make a mule drink water.

Nitocris was, for Ozymandias, she was… What of all the words in his vocabulary, worthy of the greatest of all pharaohs, could he use in reference to Nitocris?

Nitocris was a charming child, someone that invites one to dote over her, in her immediate ineptitude and naïve pursuit of perfection without understanding the path to reach it.

But along with her deifying admiration, of which Ozymandias the Greatest deserved more than anyone, which was only natural for the illustrious Pharaoh, she was blinded by his brilliant sunshine. And in that light, she could not see the next step along her chosen, difficult path.

And so Ozymandias made a pact, from one ruler to another, not as equals, but as those who see each other from their peaks, and a ruler kept their word. This pact allows Nitocris to take the first step on the long and slippery road up to the top so that she can stand beside Ozymandias. Perhaps understanding that standing on the top is a lonely endeavor.

The queen had kept her word, and Ozymandias kept his, and so he felt nothing beyond the usual before the coming battle. Why should he?

God among the gods, Ozymandias the Invincible, saw nothing out of the ordinary ahead. Victory in any battle was ordinary to him, and the chance of death in any battle was only to be expected. For Ozymandias, there was no defeat in death and no admiration in victory, such was the fate of the greatest of all. Nothing could stand in his way, and nothing could dishonor his path.

As the sun rises each time, like this sun, Ozymandias makes his way through this world, giving light to men by his greatness. As they raise a blade in anger against him, and so his vanquished enemies would fall. Equally, as the monuments of human hubris are erected, so do they collapse at the wave of his hand. As light shines in the darkness, so the gods fall, and with them, follow their earthly kingdoms and all the monuments of their greatness.

Ozymandias was not worried about the impending battle, for however long the day may be, the sun still sets in the West. And no matter how dark the night, a new Sun will rise again in the East.

***

Arthuria shifted her gaze from one tower of Camelot's to the other, shielding her eyes from its golden glow.

How amusing it was for her to look at her home now, and to think! She would be razing it to the ground now. To think of her old friends and faithful servants, and to hold a blade meant to destroy them. To ponder that other King Arthur who ruled in this, other Camelot. What is she feeling right now?

"Can I say that I have begun to understand Lancelot, Mordred, and Morgan a little better now?” Arthuria voiced her question into the empty sky, not hoping for an answer.

The three major traitors in her life, she would be facing them again, ironically, because they stayed loyal to this Arthur… Well, one of them.

Apparently, Morgan was absent from this version of Camelot. Not knowing any other information, Arthuria could only assume, with a chuckle, that even centuries later, the witch could not bear the sight of reigning King Arthur, even this false and twisted copy that never owned Excalibur.

And Mordred was absent from this Singularity, simply because Ainz had previously summoned her as his own Servant. And, for whatever reason, by the rules of the world, no two versions of Servants of exactly the same kind could be summoned… Except in the case of Nero, of course.

Apparently, with one Nero wearing a red dress and the other wearing a white dress, this was enough for the two Emperors to consider themselves as different Servants.

That leaves, Lancelot… Lancelot did exist in this version of Camelot.

Lancelot… It's funny, but in her time in Chaldea, Arthuria… Barely even thought about him.

There were always things to do, one thing simply following another – meetings, missions, people talking to her, followed by rest, and then food… Lots of food.

Arthuria, at least who she was now, did not consider herself a person prone to mindless self-reflection. On the contrary, Arthuria considered herself an extremely determined Servant. What was is what was, and what has happened cannot be undone. Her Camelot had been destroyed, her throne had been broken, her death had occurred, and all Arthuria could do was accept it with her head held high. Instead of trying to understand why what happened in the past had occurred, she could only try to change the future by taking action in the present.

And the present was telling her that she had to set out to storm Camelot, to kill her closest associates and her past Servants loyal to another version of hers cause.

"Indeed, I remember Lancelot." Arthuria closed her eyes for a moment to better remember.

Her faithful follower, her faithful knight Lancelot, her treacherous knight who had started the end of her Kingdom with his marital affair… By associating with Guinevere, he had dishonored Arthuria's marriage, after which he murdered, in his madness, knight after knight and even his own pupil, Gareth. And yet, when he was brought before the courts to face the King’s justice, he was not executed.

The Arthuria of the past did not bring the blade of justice down on his neck, the execution was not carried out, and Lancelot was pardoned.

Was she right in her judgment? A product of the spirit of the law of the past? A loophole left specifically for the inquiring mind? Or was the Arthuria of the past not so incorruptible in her judgment, and for the sake of her dishonored knight, had she overstepped the law by extending her hand of forgiveness to him?

Should she have done something different?

To put Lancelot to the sword would not have been shameful, many knights have died for lesser transgressions against the king in the past, let alone such great treachery as Lancelot had committed. Arthuria could easily imagine Excalibur being pointed at Lancelot’s neck. How easy it is for her to swing the sword down and claim that justice had been met.

Even if she didn’t hold the blade herself, to execute the traitor herself, a blade held by another’s hand could also suffice. Lancelot was strong, the strongest of all knights in her Round Table, the assassin sent upon his soul must be no less strong in his art, and success would not be guaranteed. Still, there was no dearth of Assassins willing to receive the king’s gold up to the task.

A blade emerging from the shadows could cut off any life, as long as one chose the right moment to strike.

Still, another option existed, she could simply let him live with no punishment, a fate worse than death. She could just let Lancelot stew in his despair and madness, a false forgiveness that hides the poison, slowly devouring him, until the black viscous madness consumes him, inside and out. Until the truth of his life, of his deeds, of his very being, drives him mad in the end?

And so what would be more merciful? To let him flee, leaving him alone with his gnawing thoughts and betrayal from within, or to end his life with one swift cut of the blade?

To try to grant him forgiveness again, did that make any sense at all? Was it really possible? Lancelot would never allow himself to forget his sins, and would never forget his transgressions. Lancelot would always remember what he had done, what he should have done, what he had not done. The eternal traitor to his king.

Was it more cruel to forgive him in the end? To let him see the light at the end of his suffering? To let him return to service, to return his blade to the service of his king, the king he had already once betrayed. To bare his back for another blow, to let Lancelot once more face the choice of being faithful or to plunge his blade into his king's body.

Whether this was only the next step of torture for Lancelot, or whether it was truly a merciful forgiveness for the knight that would allow him to see the light.

Arthuria did not know.

But as she opened her eyes and looked at Camelot, Arthuria knew exactly one thing.

She will meet Lancelot again, on the battlefield.

In this, Arthuria's certainty about the ensuing battle was absolute, only one of them would leave it alive.

***

As he rose through a height above Camelot, which is currently engulfed in a golden glow for some reason, Ainz took a close look at the territory beneath his feet.

"It's a pity, but identifying nothing more than the approximate location of the streets, walls, towers, and the fact that this place clearly possesses some sort of operative passive effect is all I can do." Ainz could not theorize, however, as to what this effect was.

Under normal circumstances, the golden bright light would have caused him to associate it with the Sun, and thus with fire and holy power. But even in YGGDRASIL, such a naive association often resulted in death. Here and now, in this world, where things don’t make sense most of the time, it is all the more dangerous to allow such credulity. Or, indeed, to become unnecessarily paranoid.

The previous Singularities had taught Ainz the dangers of both underestimating the enemy and overestimating it.

"Apparently I should just trust Medb's judgment in this case?" Ainz could only sigh at the thought, as he fought his every instinct about PvPs. On the one hand, trusting the judgment of his Servant, who is clearly far more knowledgeable in such matters, was not just a logical step, but the only right thing Ainz could do at the moment…  Especially given the previous fiascos where he was mistaken about pretty much everything, with only his luck saving the day.

"At least I'm glad that once again my marvelous plan was the most correct of all." Ainz didn't even chuckle mirthlessly to such a scathing self-judgment anymore, simply taking it for granted.

Medb had once again praised him, saying something to the effect that Ainz ‘surpassed our blindness and saw the most perfect moment to strike, leaving no chance for the Arthuria of this world’. Complete nonsense, of course, Ainz had no such plan, but he himself wasn't even worried about that anymore.

What, had he once again created an incredible plan, beaten a genius on his battlefield, and created countless positive outcomes for himself with one action? Okay, that's understandable, but what's for dinner?

If this brilliant other ‘Ainz’ could share his plans with the rest of the class, that would be just peachy!

It wasn't that he had resigned himself to his position in this world, letting the river of everyday life carry him on through, but he had simply accepted the fact that if he did something unbelievable… Even though he didn’t know what exactly he had done, then he must have done something impressive.

And that wasn't even a bad thing in and of itself.

After all, Ainz had done this sort of thing so many times, and completely by accident, that he had just accepted it. Even if he came out and told everyone at once honestly that he has no idea what he supposedly has done. Or that he knew absolutely nothing about the miraculous plans that were attributed to him. Nobody would believe him.

Even if tells the truth that he was just an ordinary human that slipped into another world in his game Avatar of all things… Well, either he would be wearing some nice, tight, white jackets in short order, or most likely, they'd probably just consider it a quirk of the ancient genius dark wizard…  Or they would find some other ingenious ‘plan’ in his actions.

What was most frightening to Ainz was the fact that they would quite possibly actually derive some other ingenious plan from his random actions. If that did happen, then Ainz would give up altogether, stop fighting back, stop worrying, and just start loving the fact that every action he takes would be seen as some ‘genius’ move.

But until the situation got to that point, Ainz at least could retain crumbs of his rationality and do what he was at least sure of.

Attacking the enemy's base, Camelot… Well, it does bring some warm memories about the invasion of Camelot back in YGGDRASIL.

Thinking of King Arthur, the Raid Boss… Well Ainz hoped that this King Arthur wasn’t as strong as the one in YGGDRASIL, Ainz had barely defeated him during his last encounter with the King. That damned paladin was giving out some completely unrealistic DPS, especially against Ainz, an undead with maximum negative karma.

So he had to put all his abilities, resources, tactical knowledge, skills into action, and even that would not have been enough if Ainz had not had his friends’ help.

If Ainz alone were now up against that King Arthur… Well, it might not be that hard, actually. Surely, his abilities had changed greatly since the last time Ainz had faced King Arthur. However, if Arthur’s abilities had changed as well…

He would need help, for sure. At the very least, someone capable of distracting King Arthur in close combat, and he would definitely need a shield capable of withstanding the enemy's DPS. And he would also need a second DPS capable of breaking through King Arthur's defenses and attacking his vulnerability. The raid party needed to catch the King’s weakness at the right moment, handling the mob all the while, before finishing the quest and the big raid on Camelot.

If he were back in YGGDRASIL, that is.

But Ainz's friends were gone. Gone forever, and there was no way to bring them back.

Ainz closed his eyes for a second, feeling the emptiness and pain these words echoed somewhere deep within him.

As Ainz's gaze traveled beyond the sunlit mass of Camelot, he reinforced his determination.

Even if his friends were gone… He was not alone in this battle.

And with that realization, the words that echoed with emptiness and pain in his soul, eased slightly, allowing Ainz to show the smallest and most insignificant smile of all possible on his face.

But it was no less sincere.