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Saber, Mordred Pendragon, was not the kind of fighter who honed their skills in the way most landed knights did. Not by dozens and hundreds of bouts of sparrings with their squires or other man-at-arms and not by the strict guidance of wise teachers, but in fierce battles to the death and the sharp glitter of bare steel. Therefore, Mordred's fighting style, although it still possessed a fairly solid foundation in the classical forms of fencing, in its totality it was more like the raging of a wild beast. A cornered, starving beast striving with all its might to bite onto its opponent with its open, blood-hungry maw. The fact that the 'teeth' of this beast were the legendary blade in Mordred's hands made it all the more terrifying.

Mordred gave herself into the bloodlust of battle, attacking anything that stood in her way with unreasonable ferocity and hatred. In most of her battles, she was but one step away from giving in to the absolute madness of a battle, remaining primarily a Saber rather than a Berserker. However, there were conditions and actions that could infuriate Mordred fully, causing her to forget about all her fencing lessons, other unimportant things like common sense and fall into a real bloody rage.

And, as befits the character of Mordred, the list of these things was very large and could more easily be listed out as 'everything that Mordred didn't like at least a little'. But, in the very large list of things that could piss Mordred off, three things existed that would really push her buttons. These things were; Mordred's gender, gainsaying her father, and questioning her familial relation with her father.

And therefore, any person who could so easily and purposefully combine all three things that enraged Mordred most of all, in a single innocent sentence even, would be a real genius. A machiavellian genius, capable of manipulating Mordred's actions like a puppet by taking full advantage of her personality.

However, her opponent, Berserker, did it completely by accident. All because he was not smart enough to understand that it was not worth doing or even a thing that had to be avoided at all cost. Too bad Berserker didn't possess the Charisma to unlodge the foot he had just put into his own mouth.

Therefore, with Mordred blinded by rage, even the smallest hint of a peaceful resolution of the conflict was completely destroyed. Right now, the best thing Berserker could do, was use everything in his power to simply not die.

The blade in Mordred's hands blazed with such speed and ferocity that the crimson lightning wreathing her blade blurred into a single vortex as Mordred swung her blade again and again, forcing Berserker to desperately block with no chance to counterattack. Gradually, Berserker is being overwhelmed by Mordred's relentless attack.

Although their levels of Strength were incomparable, Mordred's attacks gradually, without losing their primitive fury, became more and more accurate. Berserker, most of the time, didn't even have the time to block the attacks with his ax nevermind the opportunity to use his prodigious Strength against Mordred. And even when he managed to dodge Mordred's blade, she would attack with her other extremities. With fists, kicks, elbows and knees, a relentless wave of attacks crashed into Berserker's body.

Mordred struck with unerring accuracy, each of her attacks aimed impeccably to break through Berserker's defences. With a fluid grace, each of Berserker's openings were exploited to the fullest. As if prescient, Mordred knew exactly where she needed to strike. As if she was a hunting hound smelling blood, Mordred is doing her best in eviscerating her enemy.

Swing followed swings, where Mordred's blade was stopped by Berserker's golden ax, a punch would follow unerringly. As Berserker desperately avoided being cut in twain, Mordred would spontaneously let go of her blade when it was blocked, strike a heavy blow with her clenched gauntleted fist, then retreat, recovering her blade in the process.

Still, even when he's being overwhelmed, Berserker was having fun. It did not last long.

"Yeah, you go girl! This is golden cool!" Berserker crossed his arms to block a particularly harsh straight punch from the diminutive girl, losing sight of the very dangerous combatant. A dangerous mistake. Taking advantage of the blatant opening, Mordred grabbed Berserker's arms, and in one fluid motion lifted herself up then savagely headbutted the very tall Berserker.

"Ouch!" The Berserker jerked backward as his head was jarred by Mordred's vicious headbutt, opening himself yet again to another brutal strike from Mordred. This time Mordred used her blade to create a big gash across Berserker's chest in one blow.

"Damn, you're like a golden fighter!" Berserker retreated only to become the target of a new series of attacks by Mordred, who once again heard the most terrible insult one could throw at her. "Honestly, you're like so golden…"

As Berserker hurriedly backpedaled away from Mordred's murderous onslaught, one more opening cracked up. Barely a blink later, Mordred's knee slammed into Berserker's groin. Even with Berserker great Defense and fortitude, the great pain caused the tenacious Servant to freeze for a second. After which, without any delay, Mordred's blade slammed into Berserker's neck, nearly decapitating him.

"Shit, no fair!" Berserker retreated a great distance, taking a breath, still energetic even with blood pouring out of his massive wounds. But Mordred again did not give Berserker the chance to breathe, continuing to pounce on her target like a mad dog. "Hey, stop, wait!"

Mordred, greatly attuned to the momentum of battle, seized the opportunity in front of her and also unexpectedly retreated, allowing Berserker time to rest. Berserker should have pressed the attack. Mordred had retreated only because she sensed an opportunity to finish the battle completely.

A moment later, the blade in Mordred's hands began flashing with crimson lightning. Mordred then lifted her sword aloft in the air with an incongruous solemnity to her expression. With a subtle transformation to Mordred's blade, a torrent of red lighting poured forth, piercing the grey sky as the blade of energy grew to titanic proportions.

"Hey, I didn't even have time to introduce myself!" Berserker managed to shout in indignation as the sky, covered in smog, was dyed red. "I'm Sakata Kintoki!"

"I literally never heard of you, Clarent Blood Arthur!" Mordred replied tersely, and then with the next swing directed all of Clarent's power to finish off Berserker.

Tamamo-no-Mae's Noble Phantasm is usually in the form of a mirror, a divine mirror through which the true light of the Sun shines through. In its true form, it was a miracle given form, comparable if not surpassing the Holy Sword itself, a direct manifestation of the Power and Authority of Amaterasu herself. It is a divine regalia among divine regalia, whose power was as boundless as the all-illuminating light of the Sun itself, capable of miracles that could restore life to an entire world. Performing the greatest miracle, the miracle of resurrection, is also not that hard to accomplish with the unleashing of the Noble Phantasm. One of the very,very few Anti-World Noble Phantasms in existence. Too bad Tamamo can only unleash a smidgen of her Noble Phantasm true power.

A Servant's Noble Phantasm was sadly not a worthy gateway through which it was possible to touch the divine Sun. And therefore, the gate through which it was possible to look at the radiance of the original light of the Sun, for the Servant Tamamo-no-Mae, became only a small gap through which only the smallest grain of Amaterasu's power could penetrate into reality.

Even so, a small grain of a miracle was enough for a lot, enough for Tamamo's every ability, every attack to gain the strength of a Noble Phantasm. After all, even the smallest grain of the Sun's Authority was enough to give an incredible amount of power for a Servant.

Tamamo's magic gained new strength, her body was filled with power and her mana reserves were replenished to the very brim in an instant. With her reserves filled and her magic strengthened it allowed her to instantly create a dozen spells that stood as a shield in the path of Arthuria's black Excalibur.

However, the dozens of shimmering shields blocking the path of her blade did not make Arthuria pause. She simply didn't care about it, and her black Excalibur also wouldn't be hindered and didn't care about the shields.

Unlike the abilities of Tamamo, whose full power was locked by the shackles on her Noble Phantasm, Arthuria's blade did not have such a thing. Although Excalibur, the noble blade, was a holy regalia comparable in its legend to the Yata-no-kagami, Excalibur Morgan, the black blade of Arthuria, the blackened Excalibur was not so.

Like its owner, Excalibur's blackened blade was only a weapon, nothing more than a tool. A mighty tool, but in the end only a faceless sword in the hands of a faceless warrior.

And therefore nothing could stand in his way of releasing its power. The powerful and utterly indifferent force of Arthuria's Noble Phantasm was nothing more than another tool in the tyrant's hands, as impersonal as the army of knights in her service or the written words of her command. And, just as absolute was the order of the Black Tyrant, so was the black Excalibur. The sword of Arthuria Pendragon, would inexorably strike its target.

Although Arthuria chose to direct her attack in such a way that the blow of her black blade would only go along the straight empty street ahead of her with the aim to minimize the number of collateral deaths and damage, dozens of buildings were still swept away by the black wave of power Excalibur unleashed. As easily as the buildings were erased, so were the dozens of shields that stood in its path, after which with equal, indifferent ease, the black Excalibur swallowed up the unfortunate people that could be in their homes. The light of the Sun pouring out on this world stood no chance against the flood of destruction, the jet black wave devoured Tamamo-no-Mae, the divine fox, the very avatar of Amaterasu, with contemptible ease.

After another moment, Arthuria lowered her hands, making sure that her opponent was dead, after which she shook her blade a little, as if to remove dust sticking to it.

How indifferently her blade devoured dozens of lives - just as indifferently Arthuria made sure that her opponents had died. As she waited intently for a few moments for the ambush that was not coming, she sighed and jumped, again toward the roofs of the houses, the few that remained standing that is. Her battle was short but intense, and her use of her Noble Phantasm drew somewhat heavily on her reserves, a position where she could easily detect and evade any ambush is paramount.

Given who her Master is however, Arthuria knew that after only a couple of minutes her reserves would be fully topped up, an incredible feat with her losing her Dragon Core to feed the vast reserves needed to fuel her abilities. Actually, she could now physically feel her connection with Master transferring, simply speaking, a ludicrous amount of Mana restoring her reserves. Such a feat made her wonder whether Ainz could supply her with so much Mana that she could use her Noble Phantasm one after another with no pause. Such a ludicrous image made her scoff, with the titanic amount of Mana that seemed to spill forth whenever her Master was upset, she had no delusion that such a thing would definitely be possible, if she wished to kill herself rather utterly perhaps. Such a torrential pouring of Mana would wreck her soul irrevocably, at least the image of her cutting a country in half, preferably France, was consolation enough.

Still, she should report her condition to Master, after which, most likely, he would instruct her to help Saber, before something made her pause. A surge of destruction lighting the sky red would be very distracting indeed.

Arthuria looked up, and instantly saw the flashing red lightning, piercing the heavens, not so far from her. If her memory serves, the lighting originated somewhere in the depths of Victoria Park.

The lightning… Something about it looked very familiar to her… Arthuria blinked once, before a flicker of awareness triggered sharply, forcing her to exhale sharply. Really, that helmet of hers is awfully insidious, perhaps as expected of her Sister's creation? For it to be so absolute that even she couldn't recognize Mordred.

Mordred… Her beloved unworthy child. Mordred… All this time, her illegitimate son, Mordred, was here. Barely two steps away, sticking by her side so desperate to communicate with Arthuria, and yet so frantically afraid of her… Of course, who else would react to Arthuria's presence with such fanaticism, and who else could also be so timid around her? Mordred, her son…

All these realizations, however, did not cause any emotion to appear for Arthuria. No regret, no joy, no anger, perhaps a bit of surprise that an unexpectedly complex riddle, the answer to which was easier than Arthuria herself had expected was unceremoniously solved. Arthuria did not carry any regret for what had happened in her life, and carried no desire to correct what had happened.

If Mordred herself did not want to reveal her identity, then, apparently, the situation suited Mordred herself. In that case, Arthuria herself did not want to change the status quo. She then proceeded to carry out her report to Ainz through their connection.

Chrysaor. Such a small detail of Greek mythology that even an enthusiast proud of their breadth of knowledge on the subject could easily miss it. 'The one with the golden sword', in Greek mythology its existence was an insignificant fact greatly overshadowed by its more well known brother, Pegasus. And yet, at the same time, its existence was so significant that his insignificance was almost paradoxical.

Not every writer noted its existence, however, in the only significant mention of its life, the role of Chrysaor was very significant indeed. After all, Chrysaor, the child of Medusa, was the father of the greatest mother of monsters, Echidna.

A paradoxical creature that was so insignificant that it avoided the gaze of the recorders of mythology themselves, and at the same time so significant as to become the progenitor of the progenitor herself.

And it was such a paradoxical creature, Chrysaor, that embodied Medusa's Noble Phantasm.

As Medusa evoked her Noble Phantasm, the wasteland around Medusa and her opponent was flooded with golden light. After which the enemy Servant barely managed to perceive her instantaneous movement and slightly shift his body to the side to avoid an attack. It was good that he did though as when the blow of monstrous force landed, it created a huge crevice going hundreds of meters ahead. One shudders to think what that amount of force would do to a human body, even one as durable as Servants.

When the golden glow finally disappeared, one could finally see what Medusa's Noble Phantasm had done.

A gigantic colossus, whose head rose, it seemed, almost reaching the very sky, towered several tens of meters. Like a statue coming to life, the gigantic figure of the colossus inspired fear in anyone that sees it. Still, even with its gigantic size, the pure bronze sculpture moved at a speed that is irrational from a creature of such size.

The colossus was fashioned as if an exhibit of a warrior from a museum. His face was adorned and hidden by a helmet, his body was sculpted like an ideal reproduction of a classical soldier shaped in metal.

The enemy didn't have long to appreciate the sights though. With a flex of the metallic statue's hand, a huge golden blade proportional to the titan's body flashed in Chrysaor's hands. And in the same movement, almost cutting the Servant into two unequal parts.

Only the constant sensation of the thousands of electromagnetic fields saved the enemy Servant from his inevitable death. Determining the movement and direction of Chrysaor's attack by the changing magnetic field saved the Servant, by literally throwing him away from the creature's attack.

Chrysaor's blade sliced through the ground with the ease one would expect from such a giant, then rose again to strike the enemy down. However, for the enemy Servant, who seemed to be preoccupied by brushing dust off his cloak, the battle, although it took an unexpected turn, did not warrant his full attention.

The Servant sighed, again a little regretfully, though an uncharitable person would perhaps describe it as being done derisively. "I beg your pardon, Medusa, but truly no matter how proud you are of your creation, I'm afraid the truth remains self-evident as always."

A moment later, at the request of the Servant, a huge lightning, like the wrath of God, crashed into the figure of Chrysaor.

From the Servant's point of view, no matter how beautiful the mythological picture of creation in front of him was, harsh reality was on his side. Chrysaor was indeed a monumental creature of metal that would cause anyone to tremble in its presence, metal in all its forms, unfortunately, was an excellent conductor of electricity.

The Servant would pay dearly for his assumptions.

The golden blade of Chrysaor did not deprive the Servant of life only due to the most likely of happenstances. The aftershock from the lightning was strong enough that the shock wave it created as it struck Chrysaor threw the giant's aim enough to miss the enemy Servant. The missed blow though was still enough to create an immense shockwave capable of throwing the Servant a great distance.

As he layed in a heap with his cloak torn and piles of dust settling on him, the Servant was confused. Did the summoned creature not require the life of its summoner to continue its existence?! After another moment, the Servant rose, after which he glanced upward at the towering figure to spot Medusa, still perched on the giant's shoulder.

Contrary to the enemy Servant assumptions, Medusa didn't even feel a spark of electricity touching her. Standing on the shoulder of the summoned warrior, Medusa continued to look downwards at the enemy Servant, not with disdain or hatred, but with interest.

Her glasses were removed, and her gaze… Truly overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer.

The Servant felt like he had made the grossest and most likely fatal mistake of all his life. He had looked at Medusa straight in her eyes.

He could his whole being freezing, as if his body is slowly turning to stone, how his arms and legs were weakening, and how inexorably the golden blade of Chrysaor was approaching.

A moment later, like a string instrument had just exploded, a myriad of sounds pierced the battlefield. And with the resounding noise, the weak Servant that relied on his control over lightning all this time seemed to disappear. With the speed and agility that one would rather expect from the most agile of Lancer or Saber, the Servant dodged the falling blow from the massive golden blade.

However, this was certainly not the case, the Servant did not belong to these classes. However… he was definitely one of the 'Knight' classes.

Finding himself at a great distance from Chrysaor, the Servant exhaled, then looked up again, looking again into the interested eyes of Medusa. "My name is Nikola Tesla, class Archer. Consider this a sign of my greatest gratitude to you."

Tesla knew that the discovery of his name was not only meaningless, but the most counterproductive to anyone fighting him, the Magis could not contextualize and understand what his identity would mean after all. However, it is still information that he did not need to disclose to anyone, but… Never before in his life had he seen such a beautiful lady that could meet him in battle, that would turn out to have a comparable strength to his, and that could, perhaps the most important thing for him, surprise him.

"Medusa Gorgon" Medusa responded to Tesla's introduction with the same courtesy, with information that he was already able to determine from her almost immediately. Still, their interaction, even for a moment, delayed Chrysaor and his subsequent blow.

"I know, your fame was almost universal during my life." Tesla calmly nodded, and then looked at the bronze titan in front of him. "However, I'm afraid I have never heard of either this ability, or that of bronze that could reject my electricity."

"I'm afraid I have no right to take away from the great scientist the opportunity to find the truth by himself by giving him the answer." Medusa smiled at Tesla, forcing him to grin in return.

For adversaries fighting to the death, Medusa looked too much like a child showing off her new toy. However, Tesla was not against such a reaction from Medusa, after all until this moment, he very rarely has seen an ability for which he needed to remember that he was not only the master of all electricity… But of a lot more.

Just as Da Vinci was an incomparable genius ahead of her time, so too was Nikola Tesla. And therefore, just like Da Vinci, Nikola Tesla could possess any skill that a Servant could have.

Tesla felt his essence instantly changing and realigning, bringing myriad abilities to his attention, easily allowing to pick any way he wants to engage an enemy. In an act similar to Da Vinci's greatest skill, Nikola Tesla is arranging the most optimal skills he could to face Medusa.

The battle was just beginning.

Oda Nobunaga glanced first in front of her, taking particular care not to miss any detail, then quickly looked around at her surroundings. Standing on the ruins of the destroyed Admiralty, she could now see in all directions around her, however, at the same time, she was now open for attacks from any side.

"Hey, I'm here!" The clown, whose attacks were mere annoyance to Nobunaga, rushed forward, perhaps foolishly towards Nobunaga. After which, judging by the several swirling chains of glittering words on his body, he had casted some kind of curse that he would somehow cast on Nobunaga. But, for his effort, a dozen guns appeared on his way and instantly punctured the clown's body, interrupting the Servant's attack and briefly made him a very convincing depiction of swiss cheese, causing him to instantly fall to the ground.

Nobunaga did not even react in any particular way to the insignificant attempts of the clown's 'attack'. Instead, she was preoccupied with trying to find her mysterious interloper, turning from his 'opponent' in order to find the real target with her eyes…

Before realizing that she shouldn't have ignored the clown. No, as Oda Nobunaga, an Avenger-class Servant, she was definitely allowed to ignore such an insignificant opponent, which could not even make her take him seriously. However...

"Not an enemy, but just a hindrance… " Ainz's words echoed in her head, making her freeze.

Would Oda Nobunaga be able to conquer the whole world if she let her opponent live because he was 'too weak'? That sounded like the oldest and simplest cliche that begins the fall of a villain. Nobunaga came to a decision, after which she turned to the fallen clown, still alive even when she had shot him. In her hand, a moment later, another musket appeared.

"Oh?" Not at all troubled by his previously received wounds, the clown looked up at Nobunaga only to be greeted by the muzzle of Nobunaga's musket, - "What?"

After another moment, Nobunaga pulled the trigger...

The shadow that instantly flashed in front of her struck so unexpectedly that Nobunaga's hand reflexively unclenched, throwing the gun away. Everything happened so quickly that Nobunaga barely had time to react to the shadow. However, before the unknown attacker could hide again in the fog, another shot crashed into the figure, making the blurry dark spot freeze in place. A moment later, tens and hundreds of guns appeared around Nobunaga, all aiming at a single target.

"Oops, you forgot about me again!" The clown jerked upwards, but this time Nobunaga did not plan to ignore her enemy. Without even moving a single finger, a wave of crimson flame that spread in all directions surrounding Nobunaga practically burned the clown on the spot, forcing the clown to rush away with a cry. At the same time, several dozen rifles fired a volley, forcing the unseen enemy's cover to disintegrate into several small clumps, melted by the volley of molten lead, forcing the previously hidden attacker to appear.

The Servant, a small, moreover, tiny figure of a child not older than ten years appeared out of the mists, red blood continued to ooze from several of the wounds, slowly dripping on to the ground.

"Oh no, the Japanese are killing children again!" After a moment, the clown raised a condemning glare at Nobunaga, a rather comical expression coming from a mass murderer. "I know that you people still deny that one massacre, but why repeat everything over and over again?!"

Nobunaga did not respond to the prattling of a mad clown of all people, devoting a few precious seconds to studying the new enemy instead.

Although, with her appearance, it was difficult to rationalize her as a Servant. A ten-year-old child, on whose face several scars sewn with black threads were visible, seemingly barely holding on to the two oversized large blades in her hands, a picture of a legendary Servant it does not make. The wounded Servant continued to breathe heavily while blood continued to ooze from several large wounds on her body. She was no more a threat to Nobunaga than the clown.

However, the thought that this child was able to change the memory of Nobunaga, several times in fact, did not allow her to calmly relax, maybe finish off the clown, and point her gun away from the child.

"Oh, really, the Japanese feeling sorry for a gaijin, what a miracle!" The clown rolled his eyes and then looked at Nobunaga, "In that case, why not…"

Moments later, the bullet pierced through the clown's mouth, causing him to make a strange sound before falling to the ground. The clown then proceeded to comically try to keep the remnants of his jaw from flopping in the wind by Nobunaga's precise shot.

"So, you were able to disappear from my memory, how?" Nobunaga looked down at her injured opponent.

She, instead of answering, tried to squeeze the wound on her shoulder shut with her small child's hand. The many wounds of her body still continued to bleed slowly, like the wound in her stomach and leg. She then raised her crying eyes towards Nobunaga. "Mommy, why?"

"I'm not your mother." With a mental command, a gun appeared in Nobunaga's hands, the barrel of which she directed towards the trembling child. - "Answer."

"Mommy, why, we just want to go back." The child looked at Nobunaga with tears in his eyes, trying her best, with words alone to make Nobunaga lower her gun. "We just want to go back…"

"And no pity for me, huh?!" The clown, having managed to restore the wounded jaw with his magic, looked at Nobunaga with a frown. "Hey, by the way, I'm also here! Maybe a little sympathy for me too?"

"It is in my power to fix your existence, as in destroying it." Nobunaga threw a glance at the clown, and then at the small child. "At least I can say that you surprised me."

"Oh, to hell with it!" After a moment the clown exhaled, and screamed "Jack, it's your mom! Go on!"

"Mommy!"

Nobunaga suddenly blinked. What was she just doing? She seems to have been talking with someone… Nobunaga blinked once more before realizing that she was surrounded by a fog even thicker than the smog that had enveloped London all this time.

"All kings are idiots, I speak it as the king of idiots!" Nobunaga then turned towards the annoying clown that had already regenerated his jaw… After Nobunaga shot it… Because he started yapping while she was talking… Talking to… Who? "What are you doing, you have to shoot, shoot!"

After another moment, Nobunaga decided enough is enough and followed the advice of her opponent. Without any twinges of conscience she materialized a whole hundred guns, all aimed at the annoying clown.

"Maria the Ripper!" Before she could do so however, a blade plunged into Oda Nobunaga's heart.

From inside her own body.

Ainz continued to watch with interest at the slowly advancing wave of robots scattering from the wave of his undead.

The Undead Army was not the strongest summoning spell in Ainz's arsenal even when considering the limited number of spells he could safely cast in his artificial body. But, perhaps, of all the spells available to him this was the most impressive looking, since it could summon up to several hundred creatures at a time. However, the number of creatures summoned was rather difficult to determine. Theoretically speaking, the spell seemed to have a certain pool of levels that it could spend on summoning creatures, with a hard limit of summoning creatures no higher than level 40. And each time the spell is used it would randomly determine which creatures it should summon.

Because of the great degree of randomness involved with the spell, it had a terribly bad reputation with Necromancer classed Players. Because, for example, it could summon a few hundred first-level skeletons when the summoner needed a detachment of more capable summons, and vice versa, summoning fifteen level forty creatures when the summoner instead needed a large number of summons. Because of this fact, people rarely chose to learn this particular spell when they were offered a choice, Ainz chose this spell solely because its name sounded cool and fit into the general concept of his character, the lord of the undead, and not a choice for an optimized battle mage.

When he acquired the hidden class of Eclipse however, Ainz acquired the ability to control the composition of the creatures summoned by this spell. Though, as expected of the sadistic Developers, the feature was implemented very inconveniently, forcing Ainz to spend precious time to do so. Luckily macros solved the problem and allowed him to create some templates, not that the spell is used much. Really, what use is a small group of level forties or a large number of level ones, as undead they can't even bleed on the enemy!

However, in the new world, this part of his ability became a thing of the past, changing his spell control to intuitive, and even that part was not needed by Ainz right now. To create a certain sporting chance, Ainz chose not to control the summoning process, due to which the number and levels of creatures summoned by Ainz varied greatly between themselves.

In the fight between armies, Ainz could see first-level skeletons that were instantly grinded by robots that don't even seem to notice that they're there. There were also several Vampire Warriors, Soulless Puppets - and others, quite low-level in Ainz's opinion, level forty creatures that are massacring the robot army.

As a result, Ainz could confidently say that, the robots created by… Argh, he had a complicated name, it was not Ainz's fault that he did not remember him! It was something, something Cabbage?

Anyway, Robots created by Caster varied in their level, speaking comparatively, from the tenth to the thirtieth level, while Ainz's creations from the first to the fortieth. Generally speaking, one use of Ainz's spell was equal to about a hundred or two of Caster's robots, though Ainz could not unequivocally determine that it is so due to the general mishmash of robots stumbling all around.

However, here, of course, rests the crux of Ainz's problem. Ainz used his spell once at the same time as Caster used his Noble Phantasm, however, Ainz's spell only summoned a fixed number of creatures, while Caster's Phantasm continued to spawn and spawn more and more golems. Meaning, if he let the battle continue on as it is, Ainz's summoned army would be overwhelmed and be destroyed eventually.

Ainz nodded to himself, that seems to be a logical conclusion. He wondered if he should summon a new undead army, just in case, or maybe he should use another summoning spell?

Perhaps it was worth it to summon his most powerful creature and see if it can destroy all the remaining robots and perhaps block their continued summoning? Or, hmm… He seems to remember that he has several summons especially effective against summoners and golems! It might be worth it to use them now.

To be honest, Ainz, although he was glad to have the opportunity to compare his skills as a summoner, did not have a very good idea of what a duel of such summoners should look like. In his imagination it would take the form of summoners pitting their most powerful summoned creatures against each other, like that really old movie about pocketed monsters of some sort.

Though in YGGDRASIL, they simply rushed the summoner and killed them before they could do much damage. Really the summoners in YGGDRASIL rarely concentrated on their summons, especially if the summons could be summoned almost endlessly, as in the case with C… no! It was Babbage, Ainz remembered finally!

Still, the joy of finally remembering his adversary's name did not distract Ainz enough that he did not notice Babbage's peculiar movement. With agility and speed not expected from a mechanical colossus Babbage's size, he rushed toward Ainz. Well it seemed that rushing the summoner is a rather universal tactic. However, as expected, teleporting instantly moved Ainz further away, saving him from being hit.

"Hmm, is he trying to kill the summoner?" Ainz thought about it. Indeed, although he used only one spell, considering that it is only a seventh rank spell, he could continue casting it almost indefinitely, summoning and summoning new soldiers until C… Babbage's army is overwhelmed - "It is logical, but… I wanted to test only my summoning abilities!"

"Summon Undead: Eight." Casting another spell, an ominous cloud of impenetrable darkness appeared in front of Ainz's. The cloud then congealed, falling to the ground, and then rose, in its rise the cloud progressively turned into a small-ish creature. The newly summoned creature was a grotesquely disfigured creature with short legs and outstretched, ugly arms ending in writhing tentacle-like chains of deep pink. Its body seemed to be made of coiled pulsing tangles of arteries and veins, with one ugly eye in the place of its head.

"What. Ugly. Mind. Spawned. This. Creature." Babbage, to his credit, did not rush forward towards the unknown creature, opting instead to order several robots to approach first. A smart choice as the small group of robots instantly fall into the trap of the Flower of Flesh. With an explosion of a cloud of wriggling fleshy vines, uncountable writhing vines entangles the robots. With several unsettling shudders, the robots that were entangled in the vines stopped moving and the corpulent vines seemed to burrow into the robots. And then with a shuddering step, the previously entangled robots began moving against their former allies. "What. Horror. Have. You. Brought. To. The. People…"

Ainz blinked, what is it talking about? For him the Flower of Flesh, although it looked a little strange, was still quite ordinary. And, to be honest, very far from the most unusual or disgusting things he saw or even could summon. Although yes, perhaps, from the point of view of an unprepared observer, his summon might look strange, but for a Servant, as Ainz himself believed Babbage is, it should have looked quite ordinary.

Ainz suddenly froze. Looks ordinary for a Servant...

Ainz blinked slowly, then looked at the puffs of steam rising into the air, and then at the outlines of buildings barely hidden behind them. Buildings in which people could well be living in. People of the nineteenth century who just saw an army of robots and undeads killing each other…

Ainz blinked slowly, "Oops…"

Extract from the scientific work, "Chevalier d'Eon: Traitor to France, Savior of France":

...even outside of his eclectic political career, Chevalier's daily life is quite the entertaining story. The famous ladies' man, in addition to participating in semi-religious cults, recent findings also confirmed that he was, at one time, a member in the lesser known, but rather influential occult 'Order of Solomon'. To those not in the know, the cult's stated mission was to serve the seventy-two demons of the Small Key of Solomon, or the Lemegeton as it is better known. Some first-person testimonies also claim that at the cult's many spiritualistic seances, Chevalier seemed to have 'communicated' with several legendary personalities of the past. The personalities include Edward Teach, for whom, according to other testimonies, Chevalier acquired a persistent dislike. Nero Claudius, whom he described as a person that is extremely pleasant to converse with.

Of course, perhaps the most monumental thing he rumoredly did in the cult was supposedly in serving Belial. However, considering the fact that information of such an event happening could only be found in his personal diary (which made Chevalier's gender an even more confusing mess, as even in his own diary there are no indications of the sex of the Chevalier).

And, since the political life of Chevalier could only be charitably called 'controversial', described best as 'a man who lives for France, but not for the French', there is no end of lies and 'rumors' created solely to slander the Chevalier. So additional information regarding the mystical and occult leaning hobbies of Chevalier's made, to this day, significantly complicates any unambiguous assessment of his actions in the political arena of France in the eighteenth century...