Final battle of Camelot continued yet again (214) (Patreon)

There was no wave of fear, horror, or darkness even as the wave of death seemed to swallow the world. On the contrary, the sky seemed to become even clearer, and all the small and pitiful details like darkness, light, horror, joy, simply gave way to an absolute void of sterile space. Such a sight gave a feeling of alien-ness as all living beings in the battlefield involuntarily shivered as a wave of power anathema to life touched them.

Lancelot readied his blade and turned his gaze side to side, scanning the horizon for the sense of dread that had caught him unaware. Trying to find the source of the voice proved futile, the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. But, as fitting as his title, Lancelot’s instinct, though perhaps it is better to call it a gut feeling, Lancelot knew exactly where the source of the voice was.

It was actually quite simple – Lancelot simply had to feel in which direction the feeling of Death came strongest from.

It was a black towering figure, clad in steel armor, whose head was crowned with a horned skull, in whose empty eye sockets blue flames burned. Each step of the figure should have caused quite the ruckus, and yet, as if he was not really there, each of the figure’s steps were deathly silent.

Lancelot involuntarily gasped, a sound mixed with trepidation and a small bit of fear. Faced with the embodiment of Death itself, Lancelot could only grip Arondight tighter, causing his hands to pale, forgetting all his previous adversaries in order to focus his attention on this new, deadly foe.

Lancelot was the Knight of Knights, currently armed with a legendary blade, under the control of the Goddess, gifted, and alongside Camelot he could face even a god on equal footing… Which meant that for the First Hassan, Lancelot was perhaps a threat that would require two swings of his sword, not one.

The First Hassan, the origin of the word ‘assassin’, himself synonymous with the word ‘Death’. Though he would only call himself a nameless servant of the Lord, even the Goddess did not risk acting openly against him. Though her plan, if completed, would surpass even the First Hassan, if the Assassin had chosen to make any move at all before the plan was completed, her plan would have led nowhere. For it would not have been carried out at all.

All the Knights of the Round Table against the First Hassan would perhaps have had a chance of victory if the Goddess had personally crossed her spear with the Assassin.

And now Lancelot had to face that foe alone…

"Such is my sad fate." The Servant could only lament, before a roar near his ear made him remember that in addition to the First Hassan right now, there were other Servants in combat with him.

“LANCELOT!” The roar, like thunder, was the sound of a wild beast, cutting sharply through his mind as Galahad's shield slammed at full speed into his skull, causing Lancelot to momentarily lose his bearings for the first time in the battle. The sight of the First Hassan alone had driven Lancelot to this outcome, that Galahad had drawn first blood.

However, that was the end of the success of the Servants fighting Lancelot. This time, Lancelot had no laxness to politely deflect his opponent's blows, dealing with those deadly attacks almost with a feather’s touch. No, this time the hilt of his Arondight flashed, crashing into the Shielder’s face, knocking the breath out of the Servant, after which the knee strike that followed, almost folding her into two, almost made her lose her consciousness entirely.

Seeing that Lancelot was busy with Mashu, Jacques' attacked, only to have the hand holding the blade to be separated by Arondight’s gleaming edge. After the First Hassan, she was the most dangerous of the Servants, especially to Lancelot. Arthuria's figure, emerging in the distance, hurried to draw nearer to Lancelot, still unable to influence the course of the battle.

But that was only a distraction, because a moment later, the hairs on the back of Lancelot's neck stood up in goosebumps. In a blink, Lancelot hurriedly turned, straining every muscle in his body, to defend against the blow of the First Hassan's nameless black sword.

The sound of the clash seemed to spread for miles around. The impact caused Lancelot, the ‘perfect’ knight himself, who was very far from being a ‘weak’ Servant, to be bowed by the force of the First Hassan’s attack. He had to strain every muscle and tendon not to let his knee fall, Lancelot let out a muffled growl, like a wounded wild beast trying to snap back at a threat.

The First Hassan had no face, only an empty skull-like helmet glinting with a sapphire glow inside his eye sockets, but even if he had a face, it would probably express no emotion at that moment. Lancelot was a great knight, but just being a great knight was not enough for the First Hassan to show emotion. This blade lock would be a mighty clash where each side would force themselves to cut each other past the other’s blade.

Or, at least, it should have been that way.

Hassan's blow didn't smash into an unstoppable barrier, instead it passed easily, ripping through Lancelot's right hand, desperately clutching the hilt of Arondight, almost cutting it through. With a tinge of desperation, Lancelot’s still clenched the hilt of Arondight, and as his right hand was almost fully cleaved straight off, Lancelot pressed in on the attack.

Such a feat was far from impossible. If one was prepared for the pain, and for the consequences that could lead to further disability, and would sacrifice the precision and force of a blow, even an ordinary human could do such a thing. What about Servants, who far exceeded humans in both strength and toughness?

Of course, even for Servants, it was impossible for such a desperate attack to show its full effectiveness. Though even the weakest, most accidental and improbable blows could produce a miraculous outcome, hence there was still some logic in desperate attempts. The norm however was that a blade in broken hands was not as effective as one in normal circumstances.

Even the First Hassan was surprised to discover that such simple logic was not always true.

Lancelot, whose hand was attached only by strips of muscle as he grasped the blade, struck it out. And his skill, Eternal Arms Mastery, answered him.

The ability to always fight at the height of his skill in all conditions, no matter how broken Lancelot’s body, showed its hidden hand. Break every bone in Lancelot's body, cut off his arms, and leave him for dead, as long as he could ‘fight’ he would be as dangerous as he was if he was fresh. Even if that ‘fight’ consisted in an armless and legless Lancelot's attempts to bite his opponent, as long as the willingness to continue fighting lived in him, the enemy should still be wary.

Yet for Lancelot, with the Goddess behind him, this was not enough. The ability to continue fighting at the height of his abilities until the moment of death was fine, but the Goddess had decreed to reward Lancelot with a suitable gift.

And so the First Hassan, whose blow broke bones in Lancelot's body, was somewhat surprised to find himself now on the back foot, attempting to deflect the suddenly much more dangerous attack.

Not only was Lancelot's blow not weakened, as was expected of someone grievously wounded, no, it instead was stronger than it should have been, much faster and more dangerous than it should have been.

Granted, even with all that, Lancelot wasn't really a threat to the First Hassan. Arondight’s blow was simply met by a black tower shield, the result of the desperate attack only being a rattling of the shield. But the very fact that the First Hassan had to block meant that Lancelot wasn't just strong, he was even stronger than the other Servants might have thought. Any other Servant would have died, celebrating that they had wounded Lancelot’s sword arm, only to receive a devastating counter-attack in return.

The First Hassan's next blow slammed into Lancelot's body again. The black sword ripping through flesh and steel, but not as an attack to clinch victory but simply as a test, of course it was still a deadly attack that would kill lesser Servants.

And as before, Lancelot reacted, even faster and stronger than before. In other words, the First Hassan's hypothesis was confirmed.

“It’s called ‘The Price of Betrayal’, a blessing and a curse.” Lancelot, apparently realizing from the First Hassan's silent unchanging mask the direction of his thoughts, answered grinning mirthlessly.

“The more wounds cover this body, the stronger I become, and my skills always ensure that I can dispose of that power in the right way. A fitting skill for a traitor wanting to repent, isn’t it?”

The First Hassan's reaction to the revelation was subdued, if there was one at all. Having blocked Lancelot's blow, in the next moment the First Hassan struck again, and Lancelot even managed to sidestep the legendary assassin's attack a bit this time. Not completely, though, so a new red line ripped through the knight's body, gnawing a chunk out of his steel armor.

But, the mere fact that Lancelot was now able to react at all meant that Lancelot's skills, and the powers bestowed upon him by Camelot and the Goddess, were worth the cost. As, even in the face of a battle with an enemy that, by all logic, Lancelot had no chance to defeat, he was still standing.

And as the battle continued, as more and more wounds were added to the knight’s body, more and more it became lesser in severity. Until finally, in their last clash, Lancelot could stand, blocking the First Hassan’s attack without allowing a wound in.

And so, though his flesh howled in pain, and his bones consisted more of shards being held by cut-up tendons, through the grimace of pain Lancelot could even respond with a drop of ardor and pride. "Not so easy to bring to my fated end, huh, old man?”

The First Hassan, however, did not react to Lancelot's words, only raising his blade once again, and rushing into battle once more.

***

Excalibur's golden glow engulfed the Hanging Gardens of Semiramis, and there was little Semiramis could do at that moment except prepare her counter-attack. Her soaring Noble Phantasm was fortified, of course, able to withstand an attack by hundreds of powerful mages, deploying all their forces to assault Semiramis' soaring fortress.

But Excalibur was Excalibur, even if it was King Richard's Excalibur.

So the golden glow that engulfed it made the Hanging Gardens shudder sharply at first, shaking Semiramis herself on the throne, and she feared the worst. And yet, even after the earthquake-like shuddering ran through her fortress, Semiramis realized that her Noble Phantasm had survived a shock of force for which it had not been designed.

And then came a rumble, against which all the Servants in the Hanging Gardens were knocked to the ground. Arash, taking aim at his opponent at the edge, nearly fell out, almost flying beyond the terrace, splattering on the ground.

Instantly, Semiramis felt a shiver pass through her hovering palace, not in fear, but in awareness.

The Hanging Gardens had lost its protection and were slowly beginning to fall to the Earth.

Semiramis’ Noble Phantasm is a magical marvel, not a technological one, and so it had no separate engines or similar compartmentalization of its contents or functions. Which meant that, the enemy could not drop the soaring fortress of Semiramis by targeting that weakness, on the other hand, it also meant that if the enemy did significant damage to the Hanging Gardens, they would automatically fall down.

The Soaring Palace of Semiramis had survived Excalibur’s attack, in a sense, it was an achievement of which Semiramis could be proud of. There weren't many defenses in the world that could withstand Excalibur’s strike, or at least a knockoff infinitely close to the original Excalibur, only paying for it with only a reserve of power. Stopping the attack dead, not allowing a single hair on the heads of the wards protected by those shields, including Semiramis herself, is a great achievement.

But this possible spark of pride that flashed through Semiramis' mind was not enough to slow the fall of the Hanging Gardens.

The monstrous bulk of the soaring palace tilted to the side before slowly beginning to descend. However, only relative to its full size. In fact, Semiramis's palace was falling at the speed expected of the laws of gravity, reaching its terminal velocity soon after.

Semiramis, herself, felt her body begin to float in weightlessness, as if from an elevator that had gone rapidly downward, understood that she was falling. The choice in front of her, however, was not all that varied.

Semiramis could have tried to hold on to the falling palace. The probability of a successful outcome in this case was not zero, but it was also far from a hundred percent. What was completely certain, however, was the fact that Semiramis would be completely exhausted if she even tried. And if her plan failed, she would die without even being able to do anything or even escaping her falling palace. If the enemy possessed the ability to reuse the likes of Richard's Noble Phantasm?

Then the idea was meaningless, even if Semiramis had succeeded.

However, even at the speed Semiramis' palace was falling, Richard's Excalibur had only broken through the Hanging Gardens' shields, Semiramis still retained control even in the last minutes of the aborted flight.

And so the question, a problem, arose before her.

Semiramis was not one to take defeat lightly, more accurately, it was more apt to say that she did not accept defeat at all. She would rather chew off her tongue rather than let it twist and utter that confession.

But, she was also not stupid.

She understood that her invincible fortress had been knocked down, thrown out of the sky, no amount of pride and bullheadedness would miraculously allow it to fly again. And without her Fortress, the opportunity to breach Camelot’s defenses was already lost to her, she was as aware of this fact as all – but, she was never ready to admit defeat, never ready to simply accept it.

And so, turning to the two Servants standing beside her, she sighed irritably, feeling her palace begin to gather speed as it fell.

“Arash.” Semiramis commanded, letting her annoyance on her face give way to a tinge of regret. For all her irritation and exorbitant ego, she at least retained a modicum of human sympathy for her allies.

"Use your Noble Phantasm.”

Right now was the best moment to do so, before Richard could get into the Fortress and get to Arash, and Richard was surely planning to do it right now. Preventing Arash from using his full power is simply common sense, it was no mistake that Richard had to attack now. When Arash could still see both Camelot and its enemies from above, and pierce a breach in their defenses, he was most dangerous.

But the breach in Camelot's shields was only the beginning, expected and necessary, but not ideal.

It took more than that to bring down Camelot's shields, if the Hanging Gardens of Semiramis were still flying, then she could simply relax and ground Camelot’s defenses into dust, there’s no need to worry. Sadly, with the grip of the Earth currently bringing the Hanging Gardens into its embrace, that wasn't possible.

Then, at least, Semiramis planned to use her palace's fighting power to its fullest potential.

“Sanzang.” Semiramis shifted her gaze to the monk, who felt the ground begin to fall beneath her feet, but who had not yet had a chance to think clearly what that meant in the picture of her world and the battle. “You wanted to help, didn't you?”

Hearing the word she wanted to hear most, Sanzang nodded, a little happily, like a child just waiting for an opportunity to ‘help’ the adults. Semiramis could only breathe out through her nose and turn around, feeling the limited time she had, drain away in a rapid stream before nodding slowly.

It's time to see how much horsepower one monk holds.

***

Arash took the news of using his Noble Phantasm, of his impending doom, completely calmly. After all, when your main, and not at all small, battle potential lies in an ability that will definitely lead to your demise after using it, one begins to be calm about their demise. If not to wish for one, who in his right mind would wish for such a thing at all, then at least to be aware from a rational point of view of the possibility of such an outcome.

So when Arash heard Semiramis' order, he wasn't surprised or fearful of the order, – if it's necessary to sacrifice his life, then it's necessary.

As a hero whose legend spoke of how he sacrificed his life and body to achieve the goal of ending a war, it was perhaps something normal. It was a sacrifice he made of his own free will, he was not forced or compelled to complete his objective so fully that his body could not stand it and burst into pieces. So, apart from a slight sadness that his turn to sacrifice himself had come, Arash simply took aim one last time at his adversary, hidden by the golden glow of Camelot.

The figure of Tristan, still hiding his pupils behind drooping eyelids, appeared before him as if he was right in front of him. Placing an arrow on the bowstring, Arash drew his bow as far as it would go, feeling his body begin to tremble, his tendons straining to the point where it began to tear and the bow to creak ominously. Both his body and his bow are being strained to the point of breaking.

Well, it was his last and grandest shot anyway, what was the point of being careful with his body and weapon?

Arash aimed at his opponent one last time, then felt his muscles and body fill with pain and power. Inhuman power fills his body, giving him a feeling of complete omnipotence for these brief moments. A feeling that at the same time echoed with pain in every cell of Arash's weak body, every fiber, every muscle in Arash's body shuddered under the effort, as a smirk broke out on his face.

“Stella!”

Then Arash's body shuddered as an arrow flew from his bow, as fast as even Richard's attack, before it erupted in a brilliant sunburst, outshining even the false Excalibur for a brief moment. The arrow, cleaving the air so fast that there was not even the sound of its movement or impact, no sooner had the air currents risen, or the golden glow dissipated, that it was over.

Like a meteorite, a small arrow slammed into the walls of Camelot, that even Tristan, outstanding among hundreds of Archers for his skill, could not even see the arrow.

Instead, the plunging arrow flashed like light, without a sound, for the sound could not keep up with its golden glow – and a great explosion shook Camelot.

The blast wave and fire spread so fast that for a moment it might have seemed as if it were all an illusion. For there was no rumble, no sound from the wave that had flung Tristan off the wall like a broken doll, or from the flames that engulfed Camelot. But it wasn't an illusion at all, it was just that the speed of the attack and the force of the impact was such that the sound simply couldn’t keep up with it.

The comet's impact knocked Tristan out of the battlements, and even the golden glow of Camelot, previously so calm, burst into light as if Camelot had felt the pain of the impact for the first time in the exchange. A monstrous rumble, capable in itself of making the ears of one who heard it bleed, as if a volcano had exploded, its ash breaking through the clouds and above the atmosphere.

And, in the next instant, there was nothing more.

The golden flash of a comet that came from nowhere and so quickly, just as quickly, disappeared into nothingness. Only the huge gash in Camelot's golden glow, like a gaping wound, proof that the attack happened at all, that and the sound of explosion, even when the comet that had struck had long since vanished altogether.

Arash's body dissolved before the arrow he'd fired had even reached its target, unable to withstand the force he himself had used. Arash was not originally supposed to survive the use of his Noble Phantasm, but he disappeared with a smile on his face for a job well done, even when he couldn’t see the result.

All that remained as a reminder of that attack was the continuing reverberating noise of the blow, and the gaping wound of Camelot, a wound that instantly began to close again.

For all of Arash's power, and he and his Noble Phantasm were indeed very powerful, he was only able to provide a ‘gap’ in Camelot's defenses. More than enough for even the greatest, but even so, the breach he created could only last a few minutes at best.

However, Semiramis did not plan to pass up her chance so easily.

So a moment later, Sanzang's cheerful voice uttered the name of her Noble Phantasm, intent on making sure that the opening was not wasted, “Five Elements — Buddha Mountain Palm!”

A moment later, another comet struck out from the sky. But while the first comet that hit Camelot was an arrow, this one, to the surprise of a possible onlooker, was an enormous palm that slammed into Camelot. It was as if a giant in the sky wanted to crush an annoying mosquito.

Eventually, as was said in Journey to the West, San Wukong, who had reached the ‘edge of the world’, looked down from there and realized that he was standing on the palm of the Buddha. For all is in the palm of the Buddha, and Sanzang, ‘the monk walking to the West’, held within her a particle of the Buddha, his spirit and power.

It was an infinitesimally tiny fraction, but enough to at least attempt to reveal this true miracle to the world.

However, Sanzang’s Noble Phantasm did not present the description of ‘the whole world in the palm of the Buddha's hand’ as some kind of mystical philosophical concept. For the quite simple Sanzang, that phrase meant another thing entirely – her Noble Phantasm, the spark of the Buddha itself, manifested as the giant palm of the Buddha, fit to crush his adversary.

Whether this was because Sanzang embodied only a fraction of the Buddha's power, or because Sanzang didn’t understand the concept that a ‘giant palm’ did not always mean a giant palm in the literal sense of the word… It was rather difficult to say.

But it wasn't that important as long as her Noble Phantasm was fulfilling its role to the fullest – namely, destroying her enemies.

The giant palm descended into the breach, making the golden haze of Camelot that was busy recovering froze for a moment. The palm descended on the opening of the barrier, crushing the stone where it struck, scattering enemy knights, and forcing a new path for a possible ally.

But even this was too little.

The Goddess of Camelot did not bear her title as a Goddess for nothing, and Camelot itself was a ‘castle not made by human hands’ that miraculously arose overnight. The Noble Phantasms used against its walls were powerful, but even the mighty and the legendary had a limit.

Yes, the first attack, Arash’s, had blown a hole in Camelot's defense, and Sanzang's attack widened it. But, even with all that, even these two mighty Noble Phantasm were not enough to deal with Camelot's defenses for good. Semiramis could have broken through that defense, but her Hanging Gardens were knocked out of the sky before she could reveal the full power of her Noble Phantasm.

However, even if the Hanging Gardens were knocked out of the sky… Well, the force of impact was equal to the mass of an object multiplied by its acceleration, wasn't it?

And Semiramis, coincidentally, has quite the object.

***

The first thing Ainz heard was a noise like the rumble of a thunder, before he felt the impact that shook the ground beneath his feet. Then a second and then several more, clearly, whatever is happening is not going to calm down just yet.

The small series of earthquakes made the entire Servants' surroundings tremble, and the loud sounds caused Ainz to involuntarily furrow his brows, not wanting to be exposed to such a cacophony. And yet, at the same time as the unpleasant sound resounded, Ainz was able to observe a very impressive sight that balanced his mood.

The monstrous bulk of the Hanging Gardens of Semiramis crashed calamitously into Camelot, it was quite the sight straight out of the best disaster movies. It was good that all this was done by magic, as much as the act of basically throwing two stones together to see which would break first doesn’t look at all magical, lest the area be buffeted by sand.

But Semiramis’ action had done its job, the golden cover of Camelot had disappeared, finally allowing one to see inside Camelot, exposing its ‘soft’ guts.

Well, ‘soft’ when compared as it was before, it was too early to celebrate, the solid walls of Camelot still stand. Sure, it’s no problem for Ainz, but for the other Servants it still poses a significant problem to overcome. Beyond that, Camelot was still surrounded by the Knights of the Goddess, and, after all, the Goddess herself was still inside Camelot.

Which in turn meant that, although Semiramis' actions were to be applauded, they were not the end of it.

So Ainz glanced at the other Servants who were bogged down in fighting the enemy, and then at Medb, who had for a moment been distracted from her constant chattering… Probably not for long. Which meant that Ainz should take the opportunity, right now, to attack the enemy's heart.

Especially since he really didn't want to just leave the battle to his Servants.

After all, he was both the most important fighting force on his side and the Master of his Servants, their boss. Which meant that he had to at least prove himself without putting the full burden of work and responsibility on his Servants' shoulders. At least now, where his intervention was expected, and where Ainz himself could not miss his plan or help.

At least in combat, Ainz navigated better than most, though he’s mid-tier at best in PvP.

So, not daring to simply teleport directly to his opponent, Ainz used his magic, and Medb responded with her abilities. And so, the two strongest fighters on the attackers' side rose into the air, heading instantly toward the throne room of Camelot, or at least to the place what the rest of the people called the throne room.

Flying overhead the battles below them and slipping past Tristan, who had only just managed to recover from Arash's attack that managed to strip him of half his body, even when he was protected by Camelot's defenses from all attacks.

But Ainz, not interested in Tristan, skipped over the man's head with Medb, swiftly moving over the carpet of buildings and streets spreading out below him. Sterile white, that was the impression Ainz had of the city. It was as if the entire city was created by a soulless master who understood nothing of human feelings or preferences, just empty desiccated hulks imitating the human settlements the architect had once heard of.

It actually reminded Ainz of the apartments back home.

However, Ainz had not come to Camelot for the purpose of pondering the architectural nature of buildings. So, ignoring the other opponents below him, he quickly made his way to the balcony of the soulless gray and white tower at the center of the city at its highest point. This must be the castle where the Goddess lives, right?

It would be quite funny if the Goddess simply resided in one of the spare buildings in the city… Well, he really hoped that it wasn’t the case, turning the buildings one by one doesn’t really appeal to him.

Looking around for potential opponents, Ainz found nothing, there was no one beside him but Medb, who landed a moment later, so he took a step inside, sighing. It couldn’t be that easy, huh?

The interior of the room where he found himself a moment later, presumably the throne room, given the semblance of a throne against the far wall of that one, was… Perhaps the most apt word to describe it was ‘deserted’. Or maybe sterile would fit better?

There was no dust, not a single blotch in the light gray, steel-tinted interior of the castle, and there was nothing else. Just a lifeless, gray corridor, a gray room, a throne to which there was no red carpet, no rows of colorful flags, no pictures, nothing.

Just a gray, utterly lifeless space that anyone could only shrug their shoulders at, so uncomfortable in its lifeless, empty purity.

However, there was something in that room.

Or, to be more precise, someone.

Sitting on an equally cold and lifeless throne, the figure bore a definite resemblance to Arthuria – the Goddess. But unlike Arthuria, who seemed to be frozen at the threshold of adulthood, barely beyond youthful immaturity, the Goddess’ face, decorated in steel armor, leaving only her head and face uncovered, belonged to a real woman.

With golden hair descending in a loose waterfall down her shoulders, and a small golden crown crowning her head, a face in which cold blue eyes continued to look at the world with indifference and detachment, was the Goddess. It was as if she was a soulless robot, not at all related to the actions of those strange creatures of flesh and blood swarming around. The white cloak covering her shoulders, spread across her throne of white stone, finally framed her figure.

The goddess, there was no chance of someone other than her sitting on the throne, her calm but tense posture, her back straight, her eyes fixed on her approaching enemies.

She was unarmed, but that means nothing.

She was unarmed only at this moment, and in the next, like any Servant, she could call upon her weapons and engage in combat. At this moment, however, she had not yet begun to fight, and so, as she made his way to the Goddess, Ainz froze in his steps.

He was well aware of the expected and necessary course of action, but it seemed strange to him to start fighting right away, especially now, when there was no tactical advantage in doing so. Unless the Goddess was both blind and dead, and probably even if she were, the element of surprise is totally lost at this moment.

The Goddess, as if sensing Ainz’s intent, opened her mouth first, gathering her gaze on Ainz before speaking slowly. “So you are the one who has decided to destroy Camelot.”

“I suppose so.” Ainz replied calmly, glancing at Medb, preparing for the battle that followed this peculiar ‘greeting’.

“Regrettable.” Artoria, Goddess of Camelot, uttered with an emotionless statement like a machine stating a simple fact. “So my plan has failed…  Humanity is indeed doomed.”

Surprisingly, a very small tinge of regret could be seen in the Goddess’ impassive gaze, before she continued on.

“But at least my death, with the knowledge that I tried to preserve humanity to the very end, will be my last encouragement in this life.” Arthuria – or rather, Artoria, the Goddess of Camelot, shifted her gaze to Ainz and only held out her hand. In which a moment later appeared a spear, an enormous spear appearing like a horn twisted into a single spear covering her arm. The spear matched the surrounding building – gray, sterile, and exuding a large amount of leashed power.

That spear was then pointed towards Medb, the message clear.

“Well, the time for talking is over.”

Ainz, who was quite surprised at the Goddess's words, however, certainly didn't agree with her.