126 125

As the Sword of Promised Victory, Excalibur was rightfully considered the greatest of King Arthur's swords, the shining blade of the King-that-was-promised. However, as a fairly large number of people know, Excalibur was not rightfully the sword of King Arthur. It was not the sword that made King Arthur, king. No, the most interlinked of Swords for King Arthur, the one closest to her heart, would be the Sword of Selection. The famous sword-in-stone, the one with which the history of the King of Knights began, was Caliburn, the shining blade of the king. Only later, after losing Caliburn in battle did Arthur receive Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake, a blade better known and much more strongly associated with Arthur than Caliburn itself.

The difference between the two blades was significant — the blade of the future ruler of all of Britain — and the sacred blade of the King-that-was-promised — and yet there were some similarities between the two. First of all, was their possessor, no one except King Arthur carried either Caliburn or Excalibur with them and none other could use them. That is of course barring some ridiculous happenstance where someone is so closely intertwined with the concept of 'Sword' that they can wield all swords, a concept so ridiculous that that person is more likely to have a Reality Marble than for such a series of events to occur. Second was their nature as Holy Swords of the highest caliber. Third, both of the swords would give its wielder eternal youth, although in the case of Excalibur it is the property of its sheath rather than the blade itself. Fourth, and perhaps most important of all, being anywhere near when its power is unleashed is usually regarded as a really bad idea, worse if you were for some reason decided to stand in front of it.

However, among the many wonders, great artifacts, priceless relics and holy swords hidden in the depths of Camelot's Treasury, there was another legendary blade. Which was, of course, like every little thing of Camelot, was the possession of King Arthur. As great as its significance to King Arthur, he would never wield it, nor by him was it broken.

Clarent is one of the legendary swords of its era - the sword of the King. A ceremonial sword that was not intended for battle - but as a symbol of power, as the power of the kingdom, embodied in the hands of one who directs this power and as a symbol for peace. In the hands of the king but not King Athur. A sword for the successor, a sword representing the peace after a lifetime of bloodshed, a sword that would not have any blood on it. Alas the best plans of mice and men.

As it was planned, King Arthur would have spent his measured time on the throne where he would be succeeded by a king better suited for times of peace. But still neither the broken Caliburn nor Excalibur would remain in the hands of the next king, the next king of Britain would wield Clarent instead. A blade that embodied not the lofty metaphorical ideals of the pinnacle of knights, but the power of the King.

Regrettably or not - the next King of Britain, Arthur's son, did take over Clarent when he decided that Arthur's reign was over, though perhaps not in the way that is expected. And Clarent, not a cursed blade, but only an indifferent metal, albeit endowed by powerful magic, embodied what it has always embodied. The authority of a King.

After all, Mordred did not rebel alone, and her rebellion was not a desperate scrambled attempt by a pitiful handful of traitors to take power. Even if Mordred hadn't taken Clarent with her own hands - or even if Arthuria hadn't died in the battle of Camlann - that still wouldn't have meant Arthuria wouldn't have lost the war for her own kingdom. Clarent, the King's blade, reflected what it always has.

Mordred had led armies, led the masses, and led the knights. Isn't that what the King is required to do?

No, not only that.

Anyone can become a King - just a crown, some honeyed words and a kingdom - but not everyone can remain a King. After overthrowing Arthuria, Mordred became King. For a moment, she led the soldiers into battle. And Clarent answered her - like a new King.

And as soon as Mordred took a step against King Arthur - Clarent rejected her.

Mordred became King - and then ceased to be in the moment when she met King Arthur on the hills of Camlann.

It was not a sign that Mordred could not be King - and therefore Clarent's rejection was not like a blazing fire burning his hand, but simply the fact that in a fight with King Arthur, Mordred was not King. The blade was not wrong and therefore knew who the King of Britain was.

Not Mordred.

And not Arthuria.

And the king who at this time was celebrating his coronation in Londinium, could only stare in disbelief as Merlin disappeared behind the threshold of his tower. After all, it's not legends that should be Kings of Men, but people.

However, it was not a holy blade, it did not possess its own will, nor did it possess its own mind. Mordred could have been the King, and she was for that infinitesimal moment where King Arthur had left Camelot in pursuit of Lancelot, and so Clarent let her be in control. But she did not become King, she had done so through subterfuge, and therefore Clarent refused to grant her its power.

And so Mordred died at the hills of Camlann, still holding the blade of the King that did not recognize her as King. Mordred died as she fought her father, a father that did not recognize her as a son. Mordred died fighting for recognition, which was never given to her. Mordred died while only wanting to help her beloved father, as she plunged Clarent into the body of her father. And so Clarent, the sword that was meant to be a symbol for peace, became forever tainted as the sword wielded by the Knight of Treachery. And so the radiant silver blade, was tainted red by the blood of King Arthur and through Mordred's overflowing hatred.

Ironically, Servants are summoned in the strongest condition they can, the greatest moment of their lives. And the fact that Clarent Blood Arthur, the power that was bestowed on Mordred for only one battle with her father, manifested itself precisely as her Noble Phantasm meant that Mordred was the strongest at that moment. She was the strongest when she had been abandoned by her father, betrayed by her people, all the while dying in a hopeless battle.

Mordred knew about this as a child knows how to breathe, as the fish knows how to swim. Servants know what their Noble Phantasms mean and what they represent.

And despite the fact that Mordred couldn't care less about her life - in a strange way, there was hardly a Servant in the world more insecure, crumpled from within and confused than Mordred. And although the adrenaline of battle, rude speech and a deliberately straightforward approach remained a shield with which Mordred could save herself from herself, even the most perfect armor could protect its owner only as long as it did not crack.

Therefore, Mordred used her power, ability and opportunity as she always did.

With the smirk of a beast sensing blood, with great strength and great efficiency.

Moments later, Clarent's power, a crimson lightning bolt that simultaneously destroyed Berserker and a couple of square kilometers of greenery around them seems to be suspended in the air before extinguishing. The trail of destruction left by the lightning leaves Victoria Park with a huge bald spot in the very center.

As the light show died down, it allowed Mordred to slowly scan her surroundings before removing the grin from her face and take a deep breath to calm herself. Fighting, fighting for Modred is always relaxing, fighting is a good way for her to relieve tension. And nowadays, Mordred has a lot of tension to relieve.

Having split up with her father, with Arthuria, Mordred was able to get rid of both her opponent and gain some levity. As Arthuria disappeared from Mordred's sight, she was able to let her breathe out a bit more freely.

She couldn't help but chuckle a bit, her Father, whom Mordred always looked up to, whom she adored, whom she hated and whom she had killed, is together with her now in the capital of Britain. They are both fighting to save the world, all the while Father not knowing that Mordred is next to him… What a disgusting sense of humor.

Mordred lifted her gauntleted hand, then brushed it across her face, preparing to put her helmet back in place. A gift from her mother, something necessary so that her father would not be able to even guess about their relationship… Funny how it was now used for the same thing, even when the circumstance couldn't be more different..

"Destiny has a really nasty sense of humor." Mordred sighed.

"Isn't it true that fate has a wonderful sense of humor?" A new voice, very joyful and practically friendly, alarmed Mordred, forcing her to turn to the speaker. "Oh, I beg your pardon, I was so excited watching the play from the back row that my magnificent voice just distracted one of the actors…"

The speaker turned out to be a man with hazel-colored hair that is a little battered by the wind, with a neatly groomed beard that flowed into his sideburns. He was dressed in a rather archaic jacket and his hands were holding a book. And although Mordred had never met this Servant in person - until this moment - she was able to, based on only one oral description, identify the speaker. "Shakespeare."

"Oh! It seems that my fame has spread to all corners of the world! Overcoming not only distance, but even time itself." Shakespeare smiled exuberantly. "What an honor it is that even the legendary Knight of Betrayal is able to identify me with just a glance!"

"Shut up." - Mordred said shortly, not wanting to enter into a skirmish with the Servant, that was supposedly their ally. - "You seem to be our ally here, so I'll give you the opportunity to explain. One."

"And after, will you finish my mortal way in this world?" - Shakespeare smiled indulgently at Mordred.

"If you don't shut up, and start talking then I'll finish it before you explain." Mordred exhaled. She needed to put on her helmet and return to her father. And entertaining the grimacing idiot, even if he seemed to be on their side, did not give Mordred any joy.

"But how can I explain myself if I need to be silent?" Shakespeare asked, in general, a very logical question.

"My patience is running out." To which Mordred gave, in her mind, an equally logical answer.

"I admit, I came here with one and only one purpose." Shakespeare smiled at Mordred, looking straight into the eyes of the irritated girl, - "To write history, of course."

"Then shut up and write.", - Mordred waved him off, then frowned, - "Are you done or what?"

"Oh, did I not say what kind of story I want to write when I came here?" Shakespeare smiled, this time with a bit of an edge of danger to them.

Her Instinct blared at her the incoming danger, and Mordred obeyed it instantly, throwing her body forward. In a second turning her from, albeit an irritated, but relatively calm girl back into a killing machine.

Mordred saw no objective reason to attack Shakespeare, but Instinct was called that because it did not provide objective reasons. And so Mordred didn't need it.

Shakespeare, being Caster, was helpless in a battle against a Saber, Mordred, especially not without ample preparation. Clarent shot up in the girl's hands, plunging into Caster's body… Only to powerlessly pierce through empty air, where Shakespeare was.

After all, as a great author, many could say that Shakespeare was great at creating illusions in the eyes and mind of the reader. So why couldn't the great Shakespeare, the Servant, create an illusion in the eye of the beholder?

"First Folio" An illusion that began to spread to the slowly gathering fog. Shakespeare's voice conveyed to Mordred the understanding that Kintoki and Tamamo-no-Mae were not the main crux of this dangerous prepared trap. "This story begins the moment when the great magician tricked the unfortunate girl to pull the blade out of the stone…"

Nikola Tesla, the genius of humanity and the destroyer of the divine mysteries, was somewhat agitated by the prospects of the battle in front of him.

A battle between Servants was neither Tesla's favorite pastime, nor even a worthy, in his understanding, action. Foremost reason of all, of course, was due to his personal preferences. The genius of electricity preferred to spend his incredible mental capabilities on solving complicated, interesting riddles and interesting mysteries. Or creating amazing mechanisms that could help his beloved humanity advance further, throwing off the shackles of cruel and petty gods and outdated legends that pulled humanity back into an age of careless stupidity like an anchor. An anchor that clung to the bottom of the ship of humanity savagely, not allowing humanity to set off on a long journey to new, unexplored shores. Away from the barbarity of the past.

Secondly, because Nikola Tesla was catastrophically strong.

Of course, he was a child of the Age of Humanity, whose connection with legends was more antagonistic than any other, where heroes that could ascend to the Throne of heroes were few and far in between. But, still, Nikola Tesla was really amazingly strong.

On the side of his, what he could charitably call, 'allies' in this situation, there was only his Master, who was comparable to him in strength. And, perhaps, two Servants that were capable of annoying him in battle. Shakespeare, Kintoki, and Tamamo-no-Mae were worthy Servants, but their might was incomparable against Nikola Tesla.

Nikola Tesla was all the more delighted with the fact that Medusa Gorgon, a girl of significant mythological importance but presumably not of the most outstanding power, was able to fight him on equal terms. Not only was she able to surprise him, a very difficult feat, but also make him, for the first time in a long time, take a fight seriously.

Nikola Tesla's skills changed every second. In an instant turning into dozens of attacks, then dozens of boosts and then just a quickly into dozens of movements. Confusing any possible observer. But it was still a desperate response, as Tesla looked for weaknesses in Chrysaor's colossus. And, unfortunately, for all the variables he could bring out, it was for nothing.

Electricity versus a metal golem? Something that was supposed to be an absolute weakness? Absolutely useless.

Outstanding agility against a hulking giant? Pointless.

Precise attack on its supposedly vulnerable joints, the inherent weakness in mankind's imperfection? Didn't even cause Chrysaor to pause.

Attack, attack, another attack - and then retreat.

Chrysaor, the child of paradox, lives up to its name. Fire, electricity, acids, attacks on vulnerable parts of the body and speed were useless against it. Chrysaor was practically invulnerable to every attack, which, according to any sane person, should bring results. He was phenomenally fast for such a giant colossus, amazingly accurate and disgustingly dexterous for a creature made of metal.

Chrysaor would dodge Tesla's attacks, all the while striking out with blindingly fast counterattacks. Each counterattack, forcing Tesla to repeatedly use flashes of electricity here and there to change the movement of his body to dodge an attack that is getting closer and closer in cleaving him in twain with its huge blade.

Flashing, the blade of Chrysaor unexpectedly was in the path of Tesla's abrupt movement, forcing him to breathe out a little annoyed. Several of the newly acquired skills of the Servant changed, turning into new ones instantly. Not too soon, as the blade of Chrysaor crashing into him made the body of Nikola Tesla fly out like a cannonball, throwing him bodily into the nearest house.

Of course, thanks to the instantly changed skill set, his surprise flight turned into light drift a moment later, ending with a calm landing on the roof of the nearest building, but the situation caused him to frown.

Thanks to the instant combination of new skills, Chrysaor's attack should not only fail, but turn against its creator, and yet such a thing hadn't happened. The first skill was to instantly freeze the metal of the creature to a state of extraordinary fragility, the second was to change the vector of the applied force in order to instantly shatter the frozen skeleton of the giant - and then lastly a pair of skills in order to allow Tesla to respond to the attack in the first place.

And, while these did indeed activate Tesla's hands, while his plan was immediately and miserably a failure. His skills activated and then literally refused to freeze him, as well as redirect the power of Chrysaor back to itself.

Tesla exhaled, then glanced at Medusa, who continued to watch Tesla's plight with slight interest. In other circumstances, Tesla would have been disgusted by the habit of some Servants to chat during the battle, but right now he realized that some of the personality traits of various Servants were sometimes useful in certain situations. Unfortunately, judging by how easy and, which is important, silently, Medusa watched Nikola Tesla struggle hopelessly - at the moment Tesla did not have any hope that Medusa would be all that charitable to talk about her powers.

Tesla frowned, looking at Medusa, and after a moment he dodged the attack of Chrysaor. After which, completely gentlemanly suppressing the impulse to swear, he dodged the next attack, instantly finding himself at a respectful distance from Chrysaor, looking at both the silent giant and his equally silent summoner.

It was for things like this that he did not like myths and legends. Always so chaotic and stupid, building not on the perfectly known logic, but on the superstitious concepts of people of the past. They ignored the laws of physics and common sense in proportions completely impermissible for his mind.

Chrysaor, hmm… Even his brilliant mind could not immediately find a mention of such a beast. Although, even if he could find memories of the monster, Chrysaor was still a problem. Knowing about such an insignificant note of history and a blot in mythology, would give an insignificant amount of information. So insignificant that Tesla was sure that the original mention of the being did not even contain information about how he could be defeated.

Tesla suddenly froze - after which he still could not resist and quietly uttered a swear word when a blade flashed next to him, crashing into the building that he was standing on. The crumbling building forced the respectable gentleman to rush to the side, creating a dozen attacks on the move, which was very very much useless against Chrysaor before looking at Medusa.

An attempt to deal with the summoner was the first action that Tesla took. However, not only that the bronze giant turned out to be so dexterous that Tesla was only miraculously not deprived of his life at the moment, only his even breathing, well-groomed hairstyle and beautiful outfit. Medusa was also unharmed.

Tesla exhaled, then directed all his not inconsiderable amount of brain power to solve the riddle in front of him. After all, as the true genius of mankind, he could not allow an insignificant detail of the superstitions of the past to triumph over his genius!

Being insignificant and significant at the same time. Invulnerable to all attacks and at the same time without a specified weakness. Because the author who once created it with a wave of the hand did not want to finish his story.

However, the legends of the Earth had a very shoddy tendency to end on their own, in the most unexpected ways.

So, a creature invulnerable to everything… Because…

"Because they forgot about him." - Tesla suddenly realized the answer to the riddle. "Chrysaor has no way to be defeated because… Because his story was forgotten. His story was not brought to its logical conclusion and did not end with a conclusive ending, the story of his death. Chrysaor just disappeared from the pages of history. "

And it only meant that Chrysaor remained, without any weakness to him. And perhaps even without the concept of Death.

Tesla frowned before exhaling through his nose.

The damned creator of the story of this mechanical creature simply did not write that Chrysaor was killed and that meant that he was not killed. Because there was no endpoint, no end state in which his legend ended with his death, imprisonment or even loss.

In fact, Chrysaor was invulnerable because there was no such thing as Chrysaor 'losing'. The detail is so significant and insignificant that the creation itself turned into its great strength… And into its main weakness.

After all, there was no such thing as Chrysaor's 'win' either. In other words…

"You're just stalling for time." Tesla looked up at Medusa. The protection from her gaze acted on him all this time, - "I cannot defeat you... And you cannot defeat me."

Medusa slowly turned her gaze to Chrysaor, who froze, before smiling. "Yes."

Tesla exhaled.

The progenitor of the progenitor and at the same time no more than an offhand mentioned name. A great monster, and yet barely even mentioned in legends. Legendary enough to become Medusa's Noble Phantasm… And insignificant enough to not possess any powers, except for those required to continue its existence.

If Ainz heard Tesla's thoughts at the moment, the realization that would strike his mind would make him realize that his idea about levelling Servants like in YGGDRASIL was not devoid of logic.

Indeed, in fact, the paradox of Chrysaor was so great that the incredible monster turned out to be… a training dummy.

Since there was not a single mention of his defeat or death in his legend, Chrysaor was practically invulnerable. Since there was not a single triumph or victory in his legend, Chrysaor could not kill anyone. To hurt, to wear down… But not kill.

Ainz would be able to find the most suitable parallel to its existence - a training dummy. A thing designed in such a way as not to kill its opponent and virtually indestructible, designed to allow the player to practice their new skills and invent combos.

In other words, it was a virtually indestructible paradoxical monster that was impossible to get rid of - and which could not kill its opponent. To exhaust, to injure, but, as befits a training dummy - or the one in whose legend there was neither his loss nor his victory - not to kill.

However, Medusa was on Chrysaor's shoulder. And Medusa could afford to let her opponent wear themself down, show their every ability, express his every thought, Then kill him.

As Ainz could have said - 'gamemech abuse', a being whose very existence is a cheat. Although he would be first in line to abuse it if he could.

However, for Medusa - and even Tesla - it had a much more philosophical meaning, an unfinished legend of a paradoxical being… Or something like that.

Tesla instantly retreated, realizing what trap he had fallen into. The enemy with whom he fought could not kill him, but it could not be defeated, turning the battle with him into a senseless war in which he had to spend all his resources before Medusa would calmly use her advantage.

However…

Tesla grinned... before lightning ran between his fingers.

It was an invincible enemy for any Servant… But not for the genius of mankind. Not for the modern thunderer. And not for the Pioneer of Stars, who are used to doing the impossible.

Tesla smiled at Medusa before a blast of electricity flickered between his fingers hit the ground, causing a huge pillar of sparks that instantly hid Tesla.

A moment later, Tesla's figure rushed away with such speed that neither Medusa nor Chrysaor had time to react, watching Tesla retreat.

Tesla could defeat Chrysaor here and now, could finish its story once and for all.

However, the way he could do it would not leave London even smoking ruins.

And although Tesla would be happy to destroy another legend, showing the superiority of his mind over the stupid superstitions of the past - he would prefer to do it without destroying humanity itself.

After all, Nikola Tesla was a gentleman, and the destruction of humanity was not included in the list of gentlemanly activities.

"Mommy, we just want to go back. Mommy, we feel bad and hurt. Mommy, let us go back."

Jack the Ripper was one of the great mysteries of its time - and still hasn't lost its relevance.

Who is he, the faceless maniac of London? Was he a doctor, was he an angry client, was he a cold sociopath, was he a he at all?

"Mommy, why do you hate us? Mommy why are you hurting us? Mommy, why won't you let us back in?"

His identity has never been revealed. His abilities have never been determined. His knowledge was not recorded. Even the number of his victims was still in doubt.

Prostitutes, menial laborers, dregs of society. Lonely, unhappy, abandoned people.

"Mommy, we love you. Mommy, why don't you love us? Mommy, we are suffering."

Jack the Ripper was a nickname given to it by the printing press. The killer had no name, no real identity.

This was the main mystery and main strength of Jack the Ripper.

There was no Jack the Ripper.

"Mom, it was us. It was just us. Let us go back."

Ten thousand murdered and aborted children, hidden under the carpet of London at night.

Prostitutes, servants, dregs of society, those who did not become mothers and did not give life to their children.

"Mommy, why did you kill us? We wanted to live. We want to go back."

What kind of intelligence could you expect from children? From unborn children at that?

They just wanted to go back. Inside. Never be born at all.

Oda Nobunaga just fit.

A Woman, in a Foggy Night. in London.

Jack didn't even have to try.

Jack's blade sank into the heart, the second into the left kidney. Jack just wanted to be inside.

Maria the Ripper. The name of the killer, the name of the holy virgin. A contrast that reflected only a sincere childish desire not to be at all - and the horror that followed from it.

The moment she spoke the name of her Noble Phantasm, Jack granted her wish. To be inside mommy.

And cut it apart. To get inside.

In fact, it was death with no chance of escape for any Servant.

Except, perhaps, Oda Nobunaga.

Like it was in a dream.

After a moment, issuing a childishly offended cry, Jack fell to the ground under Nobunaga, looking at Nobunaga with offense.

Jack just wanted to get inside. Why was Mom so against it?

"Oops, baby Jackie missed." The voice of the clown made Nobunaga, for a second, to be distracted even from the wound that had appeared inside her body, causing her to turn towards the hated enemy. "A pity, what a pity!"

Nobunaga instantly spat blood - as intangible as she was. Shit.

With a sliced kidney, Nobunaga could continue to fight, but with a sliced heart, no. It was shoddy from the start.

Nobunaga could have killed the Servants in front of her right now... But could she survive after that? No, she couldn't.

Or perhaps…

For a second, Nobunaga admitted in her dying mind the thought that the method did exist.

Nobunaga knew that her death would be a minor issue. A couple of hours of headaches and other Servants sending her smirks as if to say 'ha, died in the first battle'.

Nobunaga's ego rose with renewed vigor, she would not ask for help! Only to freeze, when confronted with the same ego.

What was more humiliating - to ask Ainz for help or to accept your death at the hands of… a clown and a child?!

Moments later, Nobunaga was forced to exhale. At least... Ainz was still better than her... A little! And just for now!

But a little bit of humiliation was a better result than dying right now.

A moment later, the Master answered her call - although Nobunaga doubted that he could easily break away from the battle with…

"Okay, with Beb... with Caster, I figured it out!" Ainz's voice made Nobunaga breathe out joyfully for the first time ever, "Oh? What?!"

For a second, Nobunaga admitted the thought that Ainz was surprised by this development of events, and then grinned, feeling the heavy eyes of her Master.

At least she managed to surprise the Master with at least something before she died.

An excerpt from the book "The Phantom of the Opera, History of History":

...The story of the Phantom of the Opera is well known to many, but the story behind the subject of this book is no less interesting than the story itself. First, by far the most interesting fact known to us is that the Phantom of the Opera was most likely inspired by several real-life murders carried out by well-known opera singers. A list of murders that includes the famous Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose music, according to the book, was hated fervently by the Phantom.

The Phantom's manipulative abilities are most likely based on the story of the Red Wanderer and the semi-legendary story about his capture by cultists, who captured him and how, as soon as he looked into the eyes of death, he was able to get rid of the obsession and the cursed voice of the Devil whispering orders into his ears…