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Cú Chulainn Alter, the more monstrous Cú Chulainn, unlike his more 'human' version, does not possess certain emotions and could not feel rage, joy, nor pleasure. He's a simple machine engineered simply for carnage and destruction. An unfeeling machine of blood and bones.

And that was bad news for Tesla.

Instantly rushing towards Tesla, the monster didn't even notice Edison's decapitated fallen body, which hadn't even begun to crumble into its constituent mana, sprinkling the ground beneath it with blood. Edison was weak, since a corpse can't exactly put up a fight, and Tesla was strong, no further thought or deduction was needed for Cú Chulainn to act.

Cu Chulainn Alter was literally the worst opponent for Tesla to fight.

After all, virtually every weapon in the world was made of metal in one way or another, and most metals, in one way or another, were subject to the effect of magnetic fields.

And Tesla, as master of electricity, had the power to create and manipulate electromagnetic fields.

So it didn't really matter to him, to the Servant of the modern world, whether one had a 'holy blade' in front of him or a 'cursed' one. Excalibur and Gram were both nothing more than metal sticks for his manipulation.

For Tesla, the mystical properties, to the superstitious mystics, were nothing more than remnants of the past.

The problem was that Cú Chulainn Alter's peculiar weapons, something between giant clawed paws and shields, were made from the bones of a monster. The part about the monster's mightiness interested Tesla very little, however, the fact that they were made of bones was the most important bit.

The bones were not magnetic.

So the electromagnetic cover around Tesla, acting constantly as a kind of force field defending from all attacks, lost all its power in an instant, leaving him defenseless. The situation causes him to recount, mentally only as befits a gentleman, a few rather dirty curses, and all the athletic techniques that could help him at the moment.

Tesla was not the most agile of Servants, comparatively speaking, he could be compared to artillery. Powerful in its area of use, but very vulnerable and immobile in any close combat. Of course, with his mastery over electricity and the magnetic fields, he was still confident in his abilities to fight in close combat. It would have been impossible for him to defeat Rama if he hadn't been able to use the electromagnetic field.

And so, now, with his Trump Card nullified, he has no chance against Cú Chulainn Alter.

Now with his, as much as it galls him to call Edison that, ally down, Rama, who was probably enraged because his precious Brahmastra was taken, was free to join in with Cu Chulainn Alter to push his face in.

For Tesla, facing the enraged Rama and the strengthened Cu Chulainn Alter, he might not even last minutes, but losing instead in seconds.

Even if Nobunaga intervened, putting herself in danger, she would not have been able to save Tesla. At most, she would have given him a reprieve of another ten seconds.

And that was assuming Nobunaga managed to deal with Scáthach, who continued to pounce on her as if the failed strategy with the Gate of Skye had never been intended to succeed in the first place. It seemed impossible to shake her absolute confidence, just as it was impossible to make her change her expression, still as cold, calm, and self-assured.

Nobunaga knew that she would win a battle of attrition against Scáthach thanks to Ainz, but how long would that take? A day, an hour, even if it was only a minute, it's a minute Tesla didn't have.

In that case, to save Tesla, Nobunaga had to think of a solution, and think fast.

And if Nobunaga wants to be independent, to keep her pride to the end, she needs to accomplish all the tasks assigned to her without even giving the appearance that she was experiencing any difficulties.

However, if Ainz was able to teach her any important lesson, it was definitely a lesson in modesty. And so Nobunaga could at least understand that it was shameful to spare her pride if the consequences of this were a failure.

If she wanted to be a commander, could she not know how her soldiers felt about following her orders?

Ainz took one last picture of the Forbidden City before he started to think about where he should go next. The list of sights he had not visited was still long and did not seem to be shrinking anytime soon. He was contemplating on what other cultural sites he should visit, when an alerted shout from Nobunaga came barged into his mind. "AINZ!"

Ainz was confused for a moment, before he began panicking. What!? Had he missed something?! Why was Nobunaga so panicked!?

His panic lasted only for a moment, and not at all thanks to his undead nature. Ambushes were everywhere in Yggdrasil, so if you didn't get your bearings in the air in time, you were doomed to lose five levels and your equipment.

Dealing with surprises is his bread and butter!

And so a moment later, he used his teleportation spell and appeared next to Nobunaga. After all, why bother with reports that might be missing details when you can see things for yourself!

He teleported, prepared for any ambush by delay-casting all of his anti-ambush repertoire, only to observe… Scáthach, whom he had previously met, and Nobunaga and Tesla, whom he himself had sent on a mission… different missions that would send them to entirely disparate locations.

Really, hmm, why were Tesla and Nobunaga in the same place?!

It was totally irrelevant anyway, Ainz's gaze was more focused on the grotesque monster attacking Tesla, followed by the young girl standing nearby… A young girl?

I mean, it was probably a young girl? With Servants, he wouldn't be surprised if she was actually a thousand-year old vampire or something. She was short, with red loose hair and a corset that clearly suited the girl.

Anyway, that wasn't important, what was important was that Ainz's brain instantly analyzed the situation, and he easily came up with the correct conclusion.

And there was no chance that he was mistaken.

Scáthach, the unknown girl, and the monster were his opponents.

He could make as many strategic or managerial mistakes as he wanted, but once on the battlefield, he was a bastion of surety. The battlefield was his element.

"Prison of Immortality." Ainz' first spell instantly covered Tesla's body next to his opponent in a gray haze, a spell that made the target virtually invulnerable, but also prevented the target from acting. Originally, of course, the spell was only supposed to affect the caster himself, but thanks to his classes and skills, he managed to turn a low-quality protective spell into a significant combat power.

Well, or rather, an emergency rescue spell.

A moment later, as Tesla froze, paralyzed by the spell, and the monster and the girl were distracted by his appearance, Ainz felt Scáthach's spear rushing into his back, and Ainz did not intend to tempt fate.

"Flight," Picking up Nobunaga, Ainz heaved himself upward, then smiled.

'Tesla, I apologize.' Ainz turned to his other, currently paralyzed Servant, who had the misfortune of playing front-row seat of an animal attack. 'But you're practically invulnerable for the time being, so don't worry.'

How had he missed the start of such a large battle? What else had managed to happen in that time? Would Ainz be able to get more pictures of the sights in this Singularity?

The answers to these and many other questions Ainz didn't know, but he planned to get those answers later, too. After he had dealt with the enemy, that is.

A decently armored monster, three targets at a substantial distance from each other, and with his only ally currently immune to damage?

"Widen Magic: Acid Mist." Ainz acted effectively.

If not exactly, humanely.

In general, Sanat Kumara was a very specific personality in Hinduism and Buddhism. He was a great sage, a son of Brahma, while being a god who taught the other gods.

Of course, some features of his perception differed with each particular teachings and even from disparate religions. Hinduism and Buddhism were originally somewhat different, but overall Sanat Kumara's personality was not so ambiguous.

But not to Helena Blavatsky!

What Helena Blavatsky herself meant by Sanat Kumara was as complicated a question as what exactly Blavatsky used as her magical theory.

Because the correct answer to both of these questions was 'anything' and 'everything'.

In one of her writings, Blavatsky described that her Noble Phantasm was merely the use of the body of some incarnated perfect spirit. In another, it was a gift to her for visiting Shambhala.

In a third, that it was a product of her own magical research.

In some, she herself remarked that she didn't know what it was at all, or why it had come to her possession, and she just woke up one day and found it hanging right next to her head.

In other words, it's not that Medea was entirely wrong. Medea, inwardly gnashing her teeth and wailing that Blavatsky's magecraft couldn't have worked the way it did, was correct. It really couldn't.

From any academic point of view, Blavatsky's magecraft, if anyone would call it that, though it had some academic basis to it, as in some parts, was concrete and repeatable. Everything else though? Other than the simple spells that any trained magus gets at the beginning of his training, simply couldn't work.

It was the worst kind of Mystery that would give the likes of Tesla and Edison aneurysms. Even Medea, who deals with Mystery on a daily basis, could feel her veins popping as she saw the worst kind of heresy to the magical Order.

At best, anyone who would dare to make a qualitative technical analysis of Blavatsky's magical research, and who did not go mad in the process from those attempts, would unequivocally state that whoever created it was not even insane. They would conclude that they were just a charlatan who sincerely believed in their delusions, so wild and insane were Blavatsky's investigations.

But the most terrifying thing for magi, and maybe even true Magicians, was that, contrary to all the deduced laws and certainties, Blavatsky's magic just worked. With no reason how or why, but Blavatsky, to look at whom any self-respecting academic would declare that all her magical theories were the ravings of a madman, are capable of using magecraft comparable to that of Medea.

And Medea was a big deal in the world of magic.

Yes, looking at Ainz or Solomon, one could forget that Medea was also a giant in the world of magic, but that didn't diminish Medea's merits. It just pointed out how abnormal Ainz or Solomon themselves were in the big picture of the world.

And so the fact that none other than a mad charlatan, which Blavatsky represented to Medea, could use magecraft with a power not inferior to her own, hit Medea's confidence as well as her perception of the world very hard.

What was especially unpleasant was that when Blavatsky used her Noble Phantasm she did not summon some ancient beast, not even a dragon, nor did she rain concentrated fire on her opponent, but instead called upon a goddamn UFO!

The most clichéd of all possible things when one thinks of the unknown. It wasn't even some spaceship from a sci-fi opera about the distant future, it was the most comical of flying saucers, as if it were from a low-budget opera of the fifties!

For a second, the thought flashed inside Medea that part of the action of this Noble Phantasm was to influence her mind. That is before something inside her seemed to snap, and she decided to wave it off.

After all, if the charlatan's crazy theories do continue to work after all… Perhaps they're not so crazy and were not a charlatan after all?

Medea wondered if the thing that snapped was actually her sanity.

Bunyan was joyfully playing with the huge burning dolly, when she was distracted by the sight of a flying bull-drawn chariot dodging a UFO firing laser beams. A distraction she immediately paid with a blow from the huge wicker doll, making her wobble. The unexpected pain caused her expression to shift into anger, not that of a Berserker, but that of a child who had just stubbed their toe, one full of utterly childlike resentment.

Children, however, in their resentment, can strike completely unrestrained, by virtue of their childlike spontaneity. This was bad news for the wicker man, since Bunyan was anything but small.

A lumberjack's enormous ax flashed in Bunyan's hands a moment later, crashing into the wicker man's bulk, making it squeal pitifully.

Cú Chulainn could only curse, continuing to draw rune after rune with a stunning speed that even Scáthach would have been approving of.

His Wicker Man was certainly a great magical construct and a terrifying Noble Phantasm, but its power lay in overwhelming one target with its bulk, and in confining that target within itself and then burning it away, it was not a specialized magical construct for battling giant monsters, like some demented kaiju shows. And, as expected, being used not the way it's supposed to, it could not hold the giant Berserker for long.

And so Cú Chulainn needed to make the best advantage he could in this pause of fighting. Luckily, he has two.

He could apply his second Noble Phantasm, one that would leave no mention of his surroundings and city, snagging many opponents, probably allies too.

Or help his allies fighting beside him right now with his magic.

Given the deluge of mana he received from Ainz a moment later, the choice was quite easy to make.

The moment Florence's Noble Phantasm scattered into beautiful but useless white sparks, in Florence's eyes, for the first time in a long time, instead of steely confidence flashed… surprise.

And though it was not easy to shake Florence' calm, for all her undoubtedly outstanding abilities, at least outstanding enough to be a Servant even in her already somewhat modern times, she was not as unshakable as Scáthach or as mad as Cú Chulainn Alter, who had used his Noble Phantasm. And so, when she saw something as unexpected and out of her worldview as her Noble Phantasm not working, her body ceased its activity from shock for a moment.

The spear that pierced her belly a second later proved to her that it had been a bad choice.

Lancer, the man with long, wheat-colored hair, though a noble warrior at his core, still didn't refuse to use some strategic cunning.

He failed to capitalize further on the opening, however, as he had to step aside, dodging the spear already flying towards his neck. The enemy, dressed in what Lancer himself could only call Chinese-looking garments by using some knowledge put into him by the power of the Grail, had no intention of stopping.

Nor would the other Servants on the field allow him any breathing room.

A moment later, Nero's blade was already headed in his direction, if it was not for the interception of a monstrous weapon that looked more like a drill than a sword, he would have already lost his head. Considering that the owner of this strange weapon was a man with blue hair, some analogies about blue-haired people using drills as weapons could have been made. Maybe even a joke or two about how his giant mecha was missing.

That is, if the Grail bothered to actually give information about 21st century entertainments, at least.

After a moment more, momentarily recovered from her stupor over the pain, Florence shifted her gaze, finally regaining her faculties. A magus from the enemy side had broken her hospital before her very eyes! The place where she provides comfort to the weak and healing to the sick!

For Florence, no greater heresy could be committed. And so rather than gaining her faculties, perhaps it would be better said that she lost it even further.

Florence's eyes darkened into a red haze, and not capable of seeing anything else, she rushed forward, without looking at the Servants fighting beside her.

Lancer appeared beside her for a second, but Florence wasn't even going to bother to determine whether he was on the same side as her or not.

He who tries to stop the treatment of those suffering, is the enemy, no matter what colors he wears!

And so a large, primitive pistol appeared in her hand, and she fired it toward the enemy.

In her maddened haze, she no longer cared about defense or anything as paltry as situational awareness, an arrow slammed into her body. It might have been from Robin, it might not actually be an arrow at all, but Florence didn't care.

There was no thought in her mind except the need to destroy Medea.

A new figure appeared in her path, but Florence didn't get a good look, nor did she care to look. Though perhaps she should have, as the magecraft that cut into her body a moment later was injected with scalding ice, and then with freezing fire, freezing her in place.

And yet, even that was not enough to stop Florence. Like a demented Terminator on a warpath, the newly frozen glacier, already started to show cracks.

Medea, who was just moments ago almost bowled over by the maddened Florence, saw Cú Chulainn using his magecraft to aid the other Servants, wasting no time in idle chatter. "How long will it last?"

Cú Chulainn, for his part, would not look at the Wicker Man, who was desperately trying to hold back Bunyan's onslaught behind Caster. "Ten seconds, probably less."

Not the best result Medea had hoped for, but to ask for more would have been foolish. Cú Chulainn's noble Phantasm was not equipped for such a thing, and for a Servant battle, that could be finished in moments, even a second was a tremendous amount of time.

Ten was just asking for luxuries.

Mashu, who has become the target of an enemy anti-Fortress Noble Phantasm repeatedly, had barely the power to raise her shield. That is, before she felt her entire body begin to fill with power, or, more accurately, Ainz's mana.

Medea had said that he would arrive at the very last moment, when his intervention would be necessary according to the plan, and would bring the greatest effect on the battlefield.

And, apparently, that moment had arrived.

All the fatigue and wounds from her time sustaining her Noble Phantasm, or even the most insignificant of bruises, seemed to be instantly washed away by the wave of power that swept over her.

'So, is it time to punch everyone in the face?' Galahad's voice reached the grinning Mashu. 'And there's no need to hide your glee, you've been waiting for this moment.'

Mashu was mortified by Galahad finding out.

I mean, yes, she was maintaining a defense so that Sita's attack wouldn't destroy everyone fighting nearby. But maintaining a defense, while necessary, didn't do much to boost Mashu's shaky self-confidence.

But scattering the Servants with her bare hands like unruly children, or, well, her shield, will definitely do wonders.

Besides, everybody knows that maintaining a shield wall and not attacking was the most vexing part of any battle.

So after a moment, feeling Medea's own spells, boosting her already increased power, increased even further, Mashu rushed forward.

"Umu?" Nero only had time to turn her head to the side, before the blow of her shield, used in the manner of a baseball bat, sent Nero flying. Mashu inwardly apologized to the Nero of Chaldea and promised herself to give Nero a treat as an apology when she returned to home,

After another moment, the enemy Lancer, correctly assessing the changing situation, made the only move he could. "God Spear!"

After another moment, Mashu felt how her vision and even her orientation in space became blurred…

For a tiny fraction of an instant, before she hurried to put her shield in the path of the spear wielded by one of China's greatest martial artists.

'Li Shuwen.' Galahad reacted instantly as the name of the Noble Phantasm resounded. 'The legendary Chinese martial artist whose spear is said to know no misses and never needs a second strike… I have no idea what he forgot in America to bring him here, but with the amount of mana from Ainz as of ten Casters, it doesn't matter. Be proud, few have survived an encounter with his spear, much less managed to stop it dead with no wounds.'

And even though Li was a master of the martial arts, the instant the shield was put out in the path of his spear, not even wounding his opponent, his Noble Phantasm failed miserably. The shock knocked him out of his mind almost as much as the destruction of the Noble Phantasm of Florence did to her.

Li Shuwen did not wear his title of 'the one who doesn't need a second strike' for nothing, every blow he landed was always fatal.

As a great martial artist, he had honed his abilities to the point where they themselves became Noble Phantasms. With his skills he had achieved a mastery in which, even without his spear, he could knock an opponent off balance with one clear stroke of his will, freezing them in place, lost and weak. Whereupon his spear would strike the weak target, not merely striking with absolute precision or destructiveness, but in such a way as to damage the very flow of mana within the Servant. His spear strike, severing the Servant's connection with his Master and their use of all abilities.

An attack that turned even Servants into sheep into slaughter.

And even if his opponent used a cunning power to defend themselves, it meant little. Just as waves travel across a pond from a falling stone, the force of Li's blow would pierce through any defense, no matter what its essence.

The only way to interrupt Li's Noble Phantasm was to possess volumes of mana, or the power of protection, that not even the most monstrous of humanity's great heroes could possess.

Even if a fallen mountain generates waves, in the vast sea, their waves will not even reach the shore.

Had such power been the Noble Phantasm of Mashu, the walls of an indestructible castle, Li would have never attacked such an obvious bulwark. But Mashu hadn't done so, his strike was the best he could have done, before Mashu could have raised her defense to its fullest, but it was as if his blow had never been, just completely washed away.

Just as useless as wishing to cause waves in a turbulent river, but… It was absurd!

The Servants, though they generated vast amounts of mana by the standards of magi, didn't renew that mana every second, not even the strongest of them could, Magi, even less so. Nobody was so wasteful as to use their whole capacity, focused on defense all the time, if so, the Assassin class would be nothing more than useless!

But as they were now so close, Li could tell, every second, no, a hundred times a second, the full reserves of all the mana Mashu could hold, in excess, were poured into her, then simply dissipated into nothing. It was an insane amount of Mana! A volume of mana enough to complete the Holy Grail ritual a hundred times over!

It was like he was staring straight into an abyss, what… What manner of monster is behind this girl?!

Perhaps, luckily, Li Shuwen did not have time to contemplate further into the accidental view he had of such a maddening sight. He was enveloped soon after by Medea's and Cu Chulainn's spell, killing him instantly.

"I have a strange resentment." Seeing the situation turning so quickly against their side, one of the Lancers' voices rumbled a moment later. "Having too many strong allies, I won't even have time to say my name or use my Noble Phantasm. What a disappointment."

"You just have to be quicker and take your chances!" The voice of Saber's bulkiness boomed over the battlefield. "Caladbolg!"

Moments later, Fergus mac Róich, renowned hero of Ireland, ruler of Ulster, and lover of Medb, raised his monstrous, drill-like sword, clearly planning to strike it to the ground. After all, the power of his Noble Phantasm lay not in the direct effect of the sword or in striking the enemy, but in its ability to destroy the earth and fortresses. Fitting for a drill, its prowess caused the earth to heave, deep canyons forming with deep gorges that threaten to swallow cities whole.

In other words, there was no particular point in Fergus using his Noble Phantasm.

In the first place, his Noble Phantasm would have damaged everyone around him, including his allies. Something only other side woefully could afford, being so cornered. And in the second, almost all the Servants have the agility to escape the resulting earthquake and much more damage would have been done exclusively to the surrounding city, already more ruins than actual buildings.

Strictly speaking, Fergus was in agreement with Lancer, there was already no chance for them to show their prowess. The enemy was too weak for their skill to make a difference, he simply wanted to shout out his name and use his special power before the battle would have been concluded.

Before he could have done so, however, Fergus was attacked.

Six shots, fired so fast that their sounds merged into a single loud boom, turned into six bleeding, though small, neat wounds in Fergus's body.

In the head, in the heart, and one in each arm and leg.

Without using his Noble Phantasm, Fergus collapsed moments later, stunned by the shots, or perhaps, of he was so unlucky even when he wasn't a Lancer.

"Thunderer," And, unusually, only after activating his Noble Phantasm did the young lad, Archer, who was holding his revolver, utter his name. "Billy the Kid, the fastest hand in the Wild West."

Cú Chulainn, who'd been watching the event unfold, exhaled. Surely, wasn't Henry Antrim the alias Billy had used in the past, how could he not have guessed his true identity? After all, it was probably obvious that a man with a revolver and originating in the lands of the Wild West might have been one of the most notorious criminals of that time and place.

Before he could comment on how all Celtic heroes seemingly have the worst luck, his own bad luck reared its head.

With another blow of her axe, Bunyan had finally finished off the Wicker Man.

And Cú Chulainn felt that after the blow she received in the face… She wasn't in a very happy mood, and he was definitely the main target of her ire.

He really does have the worst kind of luck, huh.