131

Tesla tried to breathe, but the blood in his lungs made him cough up blood relentlessly in a completely ungentlemanly way.

'Ha, what an absurdity, a defeat in one move.' Tesla would have laughed at such absurdity, if the act wouldn't exacerbate the bloody coughs.

Tesla was already dead, technically speaking. Even a Servant is not able to live without a heart for long, except, perhaps, for a couple of special cases. Among the Legends in Earth's mythos, there were too many 'invincible' heroes, those who 'continued to fight, even after being mortally wounded'. A group to which, alas, Tesla himself could not count himself in.

The destruction of a heart or the head was the only sure fire way to kill almost any Servant. Even Servants who had the disgusting ability to survive even after receiving the most terrible wounds, which could easily end the life of an ordinary person, are doomed to die.

Tesla was not one of them, but he was a Natural-born Genius.

Tesla was not going to die... In the next few minutes at least. After that, it gets a little bit more iffy.

The ability, similar in almost every way to that of Da Vinci's, in Tesla's hands had some peculiarities. But in the end, its function is all the same. Therefore, right now, Tesla were using the vast expanses of his own power in order to copy skills like 'Battle continuation', allowing his body to remain even after the damage he received, which should have destroyed it instantly. To Tesla's great regret, the power of these abilities was not unlimited. And, to no less great regret, all Ainz had to do to unambiguously designate Tesla's death was to use one spell.

Ainz had not done that.

'At least I can see now why the Master is so interested in fighting you.' Tesla smirked, holding back his mirth only by the thought of the subsequent bloody cough. He attacked.

A huge lightning bolt that would make the observers open their mouths in surprise, fascinated as they observed nothing less than God's anger, struck its target. But, like the last time Tesla had done so, the bolt of lighting slid powerlessly over the body of Tesla's opponent. All without causing even the slightest inconvenience to the Necromancer.

A moment later, countless chains woven from hundreds of intertwined bones surged from the ground below Tesla. It dug into Tesla's body, wrapping him completely like a mummy, wrapping the heart-less Servant head to toe.

Even without seeing its effect on Ainz, Tesla understood that his attacks did not work. With his death soon approaching, he was clearly not in the position to keep his trump cards in his sleeves. But, at the same time, Tesla were reluctant to show off his greatest Masterpiece. At least, definitely not while lying in the mud!

In an instant, Tesla's repertoire of skills changed to suit his situation.

As the chains that had previously bound his body trembled, bursting one by one… the next spell hit Tesla's neck.

Ainz, Tesla's opponent, if he could call him that, did not exchange lengthy dialogues and philosophical reasoning about life as he tried his best to decapitate Tesla. No, the Necromancer simply continued to cast his spells calmly, confidently and with nary a peep.

The attack to the neck was supposed to deprive Tesla of his head. Seeing that Tesla could survive his heart being ripped out, Ainz simply went for the next guaranteed kill. Without any prefaces or pause, the guillotine of magic falls.

Unfortunately for the great scientist, even all his vaunted abilities did not allow him to continue to exist without a head.

Unfortunately for Ainz, Tesla was very creative.

While indeed Tesla's 'Natural-born Genius' was engaged in keeping him alive, it wasn't his only skill.

And therefore, Ainz's spell, a flash of cold icy light rushing to Tesla's neck, instantly faded as it touched Tesla's neck before exploding in a column of sparks.

Lightning struck Ainz again kicking up a dust cloud. If the attack that Tesla had used before could be compared to a 'God's Wrath', now it was like Zeus's arrow, announcing the beginning of the Titanomachy.

The flash of lightning struck Ainz, breaking through all of his defenses, making Tesla smile in anticipation for Ainz's reaction.

He was expecting a cry of pain or, maybe, an incredulous exclamation, a shocked roar… Not that Tesla took pleasure in hurting people, he simply liked the reaction of people to his strength and genius.

However, all he heard in response was a light sigh, and perhaps befuddlement. "Hm?"

As the dust cloud clears, Tesla could see Ainz standing, his body untouched by Tesla's attack. Tesla could see that he was no more surprised by Tesla's than the disinterested surprise of a bored employee who noticed a pigeon flying near his office window.

Tesla could not believe his eyes, looking at his unruffled opponent. He had used one of his strongest ability, all to no effect.

Galvanism, his second skill. His excellent trump card. His truest manifestation as 'the scientist who brought the world to electricity'. His embodiment as the modern Prometheus that had cast away the god's yoke, his greatest Trump card against Magic, useless.

Disembodied magic, energy without form, all things that violated the foundations of human society, all are supposed to be useless against Tesla. He, the person that heralded the era of electricity, could treat magic as a nothing more than demythologized force of human science. It was still an esoteric science, of course, but still followed 'laws' like any other science. And, as expected, Tesla, the King of Lightning, the Genius of All Sciences, could subjugate any human knowledge.

Of course, there was an incredible difference between the simple, and concrete Sciences and the complex order of magic. And so Tesla's abilities in manipulating spells were limited. But, if the spell directed against him carried energy in itself, for Tesla this spell was no more dangerous than any spark of electricity. And electricity was under Tesla's control.

Furthermore, Tesla's invulnerability against some spells was not the only function of his skill. No, by subjugating the spells with ease, he was able to extract their own energy from them, turning magic into pure power, into electricity and into his own mana. He was, in essence, the bane of magi, a bona fide Magus Killer.

Tesla's lightning that had absorbed the power of Ainz's spell, was several times stronger, and yet… it did nothing. Tesla could see the lightning striking Ainz, bypassing his defenses, yet it did nothing.

"Hmm," Tesla could not contemplate the scene any further as could see Ainz nodding and suddenly a fire tornado engulfed him. The fire tornado was also turned into Tesla's power, which he then used to cast lightning again, an even stronger one this time. And yet, it still did nothing.

Ainz was too prepared, an attack of even such a level wouldn't be able to injure him.

Experimenting on the peculiarities of Tesla's immunity, a moment later several ice needles struck Tesla. Only, this time, instead of the spell being absorbed, the ice needles was reflected. Unfortunately, turning matter into energy was beyond Tesla's control.

"Hmm, ice spell works?" Tesla could hear Ainz murmuring something. Before he could ponder it further, Ainz disappeared from Tesla's field of vision as an ice tornado rose, engulfing Tesla's figure. This time the spell was absorbed by Tesla's power.

Another lightning bolt flashed, illuminating the London depths with a flash of thunderbolt. It did nothing.

"Hmm, interesting, it was not a weakness to ice-based spells." Ainz's clinical, if bored, voice, grated on Tesla's pride. Like a bored customer could feel when observing a completely ordinary coffee making process.

Tesla felt slighted.

It was unpleasant for him to feel this ineffectual. To be so vulnerable, was anathema to the genius. But, the most unpleasant thing for him, was the disinterested gaze of his opponent, who was evaluating Tesla as if it he were a third-rate museum exhibit.

Worse than the fact that he was going to die, was the disinterest in his opponent's eyes. He was facing the great Nikola Tesla! And yet, Ainz looked bored.

Tesla grimaced as another bout of bloody coughing twisted his gut, forcing him to bow down. Revealing his defenseless form, a geyser of lava burst from below his feet. The scorching molten rock instantly melting his cloak, fusing skin with fabric.

Tesla did not just lose - he was destroyed. Methodically, quickly, and with the perfection of a machine moving at a measured pace, driven by nothing more than cold logic. If he was not the one not being destroyed by the moving gears of logic, he could even appreciate the beauty of it.

Tesla rushed forward desperately, deflecting another attack in the form of a beam of light. His position not even allowing the minimum effectiveness of a retaliatory strike. He grimaced at his own weakness.

To be in a position where using his Trump Card was just wasting time… what a position to be in.

Although he was strong, as strong as the King of Storms or even Da Vinci, it was just that they all could not compete with Ainz.

Tesla grinned for a second, grimacing in a fit of coughing. Perhaps Ainz was indeed that strong. If Ainz can defeat the King of Kings, Tesla will even forgive him for his loss.

However, before that happens… As Tesla got closer, he suddenly stopped moving at the last moment. Ainz, who was preparing to teleport away, stopped, looking in interest at what Tesla would do next.

From what Tesla himself could see, Ainz had realized what Tesla's next move going to be with a clarity honed by years of practice. Ainz could see that Tesla was going to use his last and greatest Trump Card, his Noble Phantasm.

Ainz also knows that it's too late to evade it.

And although it was worth attacking Tesla's defenseless self, Ainz chose not to risk it, expecting Tesla's either suicidal action or that Tesla's Battle Continuation would be enough to allow him to finish his Noble Phantasm. Ainz decided, just in case, to prepare in addition to defend against Tesla's Noble Phantasm.

A smart solution, perhaps even the right one.

Tesla had never seen anyone who was able to withstand the power of his Noble Phantasm, but perhaps Ainz will be the first to surprise Tesla so much.

Tesla looked into Ainz's eyes, feeling how his seemingly limitless powers were rapidly thinning, and smiled, as he shouted out the name of his Magnum Opus. "System Keraunos!"

Chrysaor, a paradoxical creature, could not be destroyed.

Either by brute strength, abilities, or legends, nothing could destroy the 'unfinished paradox'. Its perpetual nature forcing anything it faces into an endless battle without a finale. Indeed, his history that did not include the conditions of his death made it unkillable.

The Jabberwock, an English mathematician's invention, could not be destroyed.

The embodied children's fairy tale, the Jabberwock was the prototype of the 'invincible monster' that the hero had to kill with his 'vorpal sword'. And therefore, as long as there was no 'hero' against him wielding the 'vorpal sword', the Jabberwock could not be defeated. Indeed, in his history the conditions of his death were indicated, making it unkillable by any other means.

The monstrous figure of the Jabberwock rushed forward with the brutality of a Berserker. The bronze giant that is Chrysaor deflected his attacks perfectly, delivering devastating parrying blows that slid helplessly over the hard skin of the 'invincible beast'.

Alice continued to stare disinterestedly at the senseless battle. Her eyes filled with a mechanical indifference that could only be rivaled by the porcelain dolls on the shelves of stores.

It was pointless anyway.

Just as the clash of two invincible beasts was pointless, so was the battle between Alice and Medusa. So senseless was the resistance of mere Servants against the King of Kings.

It couldn't be killed, it couldn't be stopped, and it could not be reasoned with. It will absolutely not stop, never, until everyone is dead.

Alice was calm - not because she was emotionless, but because the fight was simply meaningless. If the destruction of humanity could not be stopped, there was no point in resisting the King of Kings and there was no point in feeling anything, in pity, or in horror. If the ending of a book was predetermined, everything else is meaningless, no sentence in it makes a point. If a battle was meaningless, then no action, feeling, or desire in this battle was needed.

Alice didn't want to destroy the world, but resistance was pointless. So she simply watches events unfold with a disinterested gaze.

She watched as the bronze giant, carrying a golden blade, struck blow after blow at the invulnerable bulk of the 'monster that cannot be defeated'. Alice melancholically pondered about the senselessness of futile resistance.

Medusa, hiding behind the bulk of the unexpectedly dexterous bronze giant, should have known the futility of her resistance.

She should have known that some things simply cannot be changed.

That there was no point in resisting some things.

And yet Medusa dragged on with this senseless battle, as if hoping that her Master would appear and save her from the stalemate.

Maybe she was right. Alice could not deny that the chance of Medusa winning were another Servant or even her Master to assist her definitely exists.

However, Alice was also sure that no amount of backup would save her from the King of Kings' wrath. So Medusa winning here is pointless.

Alice knew too many things to think that winning is possible.

Even the card soldiers that Alice had summoned a little earlier were now pointless and were called back. The battle was endless in its terms for the Trump soldiers to do anything other than make annoying noises.

A moment later, Alice's eyes, distracted from the battle, was transfixed to the senseless collision between two legendary monsters… Which is why it took her an incredibly long time, for Servants, to notice a glaring fact.

Medusa was no longer in her usual perch, on the shoulder of Chrysaor.

Alice instantly understood what Medusa's plan was. Still she did not bother to defend herself from the blow that was now coming towards her body. It was pointless after all.

Medusa, taking advantage of her opponent's inattention, was poised to strike Alice down. Bypassing the Jabberwock in speed, she plunged her blade into Alice's body. An effective, albeit not so spectacular move.

The blade of Medusa sank into Alice's body, piercing it through and...

"It's a pity." Alice instantly stopped smiling, returning her expressionless expression to her face.

"Jabberwock!" Alice shouted the name of her beast.

"Chrysaor!" Medusa answered back instantly.

And so, the battle between two legendary and unkillable monsters have begun on the battlefield.

Instantly, a barrier arose between the two combatants before Medusa realized what was wrong.

"This has already happened." Medusa's gaze came across the completely uninjured figure of Alice, standing in another place.

"Yes," Alice answered simply. "Perpetual Engine Maiden Empire"

It was all pointless, not only the battle between the Jabberwock and Chrysaor, but the battle between Alice and Medusa.

Medusa could easily bypass the Jabberwock, striking Alice dead. But did it matter if with each of her deaths Alice could turn back time? Back to the beginning of the battle between Medusa and Alice?

As a story that has no beginning or end, only different book covers that embody it, so does the reader returns each time to the beginning as they reached the end of the book.

Alice could not be defeated not because she was a strong Servant, but because she did not have the very concept of 'defeat'.

Alice was a Servant who longed and heads for a 'happy ending'. As defeat couldn't be a 'happy ending'. A bittersweet one maybe, but definitely not a 'happy' ending.

And so Alice, rejecting her own death as 'an unhappy end that I refuse to accept', would return to the beginning of the book over and over again.

Fighting her was pointless.

Judging by the dangerously flashing eyes of Medusa under her glasses, she understood this as well as Alice herself.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. One of the classic of its time, a magnificent example of tabloid literature, which later became a world renowned masterpiece. One of the earliest stories that first discussed the story of human moral duality clothed in the scientific theories of its time. The story about a split personality was truly a product of its time, an early story of science fiction.

Dr. Henry Jekyll, was an exalted gentleman of outstanding positive qualities, philanthropist and aesthete, he was a true British gentleman. A stark antithesis against his alter ego, the cruel and evil, heartless and callous Mr. Edward Hyde.

Dr. Jekyll, disgusted by his other self's nature, suffered from great self-loathing. Mr. Hyde, contemptuous of the weak and soft-hearted gentleman his other self is, too weak to even acknowledge his own human desires and base nature.

Needless to say, Shakespeare was provided with a magnificent stage in which he himself was no less than a god. Indeed, the greatest strength and weakness of Jekyll and Hyde was precisely that the history of a real scientist degenerated into a literary creation by the passage of time and human memory.

A work of fiction has the ability to be rewritten again and again. Each repetition with new reinterpretation, acquiring new focuses and in a way changing the unchanging canons, creating an overall picture of a thousand scattered scraps. And that was exactly what Shakespeare was happy about, because a canvas woven from thousands of rags was so easy to tear apart!

Every rumor and focus whose veracity was lost in the waters of time was a blade available to him, a blade that he could thrust into the weakened mind of a torn Servant.

Every impression of the reader, every unspoken theory was his whip and chain, cutting into the flesh of the defenseless Jekyll.

'He hated himself,' One of the interpretations of Jekyll's story that was thrown by an unknown critic in the past pierced the mind of the Servant.

'Both sides of his personality despised each other, as only man himself can despise himself,' Bile mixed with blood, began rising up the Servant's esophagus.

'The only outcome of his ending was suicide, no other outcome could exist for him,' Hopes, dreams, desires, aspirations, and goals are turning to dust.

Like a particularly sadistic torturer enjoying the torment of his victim, Shakespeare watched Jekyll's figurative vivisection with a badly hidden grin. As the trapped Servant curled in a fetal position, reading the stanzas of an endless monologue that strips his very own existence.

'He was abandoned by his friends, abandoned by his family, but above all else - he abandoned himself' There was nothing remaining of Dr. Jekyll. Just a dried-up shell, a skeleton barely covered with the flesh suffering torment and pain.

While Shakespeare did not enjoy inflicting suffering. But, if he endeavored to write a tragedy, then at the end of the performance, the audience must be no less dead than the characters.

This was Shakespeare's rule. He did not enjoy inflicting misery, but making people miserable was a passion.

Powerlessly, Jekyll stood. He was so weak and empty in front of Shakespeare that it caused the latter to grin.

"And so, that was the end of the torment of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."

It took Shakespeare a full second to realize that his last phrase had been spoken in two voices at the same time. And if Shakespeare's voice was known to him and, of course, pleasant, then the second did not fit in with his production at all!

"After the suffering passed - Dr. Jekyll was dead." The voice of the speaker was arrogant and somewhat mocking, not at all fitting with a tragedy. "But Mr. Hyde was not. Marchen Meines Lebens."

Shakespeare instantly found the intruder who had intervened in his play with a gaze, all the while powerlessly gritting his teeth. "Andersen."

The blue-haired boy just smiled in response. "Repeat that name a couple more times, Shakespeare. Who knows, maybe it won't only be your meaningless writings filling your head, but also some brains."

Shakespeare thought that he was writing a tragedy for Dr. Jekyll, he might have written one for himself instead.

The battle between Arthuria and Mordred carried a heavy symbolic meaning. It was a reflection of their legendary duel, repeating through the centuries, on the sacred land of Britain. This battle had history, strength, metaphor and… it means nothing to Arthuria.

Arthuria did not react to this battle in any particular way. Not with anguished sadness, not with burning anger. Blow after blow collided methodically, the sound of colliding blades flying around, as Mordred strike blow after blow, accelerating the rhythm of the battle.

Arthuria responded to Mordred's attacks with mocking ease. Although their stats were comparable, if not identical, thanks to Ainz's magic, Arthuria outclassed her opponent enough to continue the fight coldly, disinterestedly, mechanically. Just as she wanted.

Mordred glanced at Arthuria, with a blank look. She continued looking for the target of her next attack. All the while she did not bring her gaze to Arthuria's face, continuing to attack.

With the same fervor with which she always fought, but without the hatred or anger behind it. She fought without her usual bestial cruelty powering each blow. She was weak.

Arthuria could have killed Mordred at any time during their battle. Perhaps it would not be so easy or without any injury, but the moment Arthuria could overpower her opponent, the battle was already over. And yet she did not.

Arthuria fought with mechanical precision, not allowing any of Mordred's attacks to bypass her defense. Each deflected attack that could lead to a battle-ending retaliation was taken, but…

She hesitated.

It was something that everyone would miss. In a battle between the two Servants, there was no place for an observer, there was no place for long thought of action, only Instinct. The flow of a battle changes with every second, even the skill of another Servant could not tell that Arthuria was hesitating with her attacks.

Only Mordred knew.

Mordred knows Arthuria better than anyone else in this world. No matter how many masks she wears and how many times she changed her path, Mordred could see right through Arthuria.

So it is with crystal clarity, Mordred could see her King's agonizing, mocking delay.

"Come on!" Mordred gripped her blade till her hands creaked. "Fight me!"

Arthuria parried attack after attack, going on the offensive which ended in nothing.

"Come on!" Mordred bared her teeth as she attacked, exposing a weakness that Arthuria could exploit. "Strike me down!"

Arthuria hesitated, missing the tenths of an instant which would have been enough for her to deal a crippling strike to Mordred.

"Fight! Fight! " - Mordred put her frustration into every blow - "Fight me!"

But Arthuria hesitated, repelling blow after blow listlessly, as if not even paying attention to the battle.

"Come on!" - Mordred clenched her jaw so hard that her tooth emitted an unpleasant crunch. "Take your blade in your hands and fight!"

Arthuria hesitated, eyeing Mordred not as an adversary, but as a strange curiosity before her.

No regret, no rage, nothing. Something that is almost anathema to the Servant that is Mordred.

"FIGHT ME!" - Mordred was the first who could not stand the cold, studying gaze of Arthuria, "FIGHT WITH YOUR FULL POWER!"

Arthuria did not respond to her exclamation of rage that sounded more like a cry of pain, striking blow after blow.

What should she answer her plea with? How did she feel at that moment? What would she like to tell Mordred? About their battle, about her betrayal, about Arthuria's mission?

"FIGHT!" Mordred roared again, rushing forward, recklessly exposing herself to Arthuria's attack. An attack that never came.

Arthuria could end the battle here and now, with just one blow that would have taken Mordred's head.

But Arthuria hesitated.

Dodging Mordred's suicidal attack, she punished her for her reckless attack with only a minor wound before retreating again.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" Mordred, seeing with painful clarity Arthuria's hesitance, continued to attack over and over again, eager to see Arthuria in battle.

She wanted to see her King serious, fighting with all her might. She wanted her King to kill her, to at least acknowledge even that terse relation.

But Arthuria hesitated, simply watching Mordred's attacks with an uninterested gaze, forcing her to grit her teeth.

Mordred struck another blow to retreat backward, gaining some distance between them. This was a clear sign that Mordred was preparing to unleash her Noble Phantasm. However, instead of the roar of Clarent Blood Arthur activating, Arthuria heard only a quiet wheeze.

"Do you really hate me that much?" Mordred said, with a defeated tone of voice, looking at the floor, squeezing Clarent painfully. "So much so that you don't even want to fight me?"

And, for the first time in the entire battle, Arthuria replied, "No."

Mordred looked up, broken and hated at the same time, hearing Arthuria's next words, "I don't hate you."

Mordred froze for a second before anger finally turned her head, she lunged forward with a cry that turned into a howl. It seems that Arthuria's words had reignited Mordred's anger.

HOW DARE SHE?! HOW DARE SHE?! HOW DARE SHE?!

Mordred's attacks were chaotic, filled with anger, filled with hatred and bitterness. But Arthuria fought back blow after blow with ease.

"Is that the reason why you were hiding your face?" Arthuria, repulsing blow after blow, said calmly, "Then I understood."

Mordred gripped her blade with all her fury, striking blow after desperate blow.

Arthuria hesitated because she wondered why Mordred was hiding her identity.

"DIE! DIE! DIE!" Mordred struck with bestial cruelty as she heard her armor plates crack, barely able to contain her anger, "I HATE YOU!"

"I do not hate you, Mordred." Arthuria answered back calmly, her voice drowned by the clang of metal. But for the one it was intended to be heard by, it was loud and clear.

"And I do not love you, you are just one of my knights, unworthy of my throne. Nothing more nothing less."

Hearing these words, Mordred's anger, her burning hatred froze for a second.

"I STRIVED ONLY FOR YOUR RECOGNITION!" Mordred struck again, - "ONLY FOR THIS!"

"You've got my recognition", - Arthuria repulsed the attack again, - "As a knight of the round table, as my follower, you were recognized."

"Then what are we fighting for?" These words were not a cry, escaping with a strangled wheeze, but a plea. "For what, father?!"

"Because you remained a knight, seeking not recognition, but the throne, praise, and glory." The blow of Arthuria finally crashed into Mordred's body, creating a significant injury.

"For that reason, I will never give you the throne."

Mordred, exhausted, slowly rose to her feet, as if she at once had lost all her desire for battle.

"Why couldn't you just recognize me, Father?" Looking at Arthuria, Mordred leaned on the blade, driving Clarent into the ground.

"Because my burden is the burden of a king," Arthuria answered shortly, "And the fact that you cannot understand me means that you will never be a king."

The Storm King's attacks failed to reach their target, forcing her to change her position over and over again, each time dodging Nobunaga's shots.

"I was counting on something more challenging, King of the Storms." Her voice was mocking and not impressed at all. "Is that all you can offer me? Run like a rat to avoid attacks?"

Nobunaga's words cut the Storm King's ear, but she could not react in any way. Her attacks were powerful, but useless. Her Mana Bursts was deadly - but harmless. Her skills were honed - but pointless.

"Tell me, you call yourself the King of the Storms, Artoria Alter, Rider," Nobunaga spoke confidently, moving across the battlefield with lazy steps, all the while showering the enemy with volleys of guns over and over again, as if driving the powerless hare into a snare.

"Don't you think that losing to the 'fake King' shameful? Aren't you ashamed of your title, King of the Storms? What's your name worth without your title?"

Artoria Alter was cornered but showed no weakness or despair as she continued to dodge Nobunaga's attacks.

This battle was not only a foregone conclusion, it was completely one-sided, more like a beating than a battle. Nobunaga could enjoy her superiority to the fullest, but her arrogant, mocking part did not prevail over her rational mind. She could not let this battle continue on, lest Arthuria were to be killed by Mordred.

Nobunaga grimaced inwardly, imagining how much her slowly gaining reputation would plummet if she allowed Arthuria to die next to her, before sighing and invoking her power with a snap of her fingers.

A moment later, Nobunaga was next to Artoria, after which she surrounded her by a wall of guns.

Dozens, hundreds, thousands of barrels sprang up around Artoria like an impenetrable palisade. The countless muzzles pointed at the King of Storms from every angle, rising to the very skies, there would be no escape.

"Any last words?" Unable to resist the last moment of feeling her own superiority, Nobunaga looked into the eyes of Artoria, frozen in front of her.

Artoria, the King of Storms, just looked at Nobunaga, lifting her spear. "Rhongomyniad."

A moment later, a wave of power, as if escaping lightning, struck in all directions, breaking even through the immateriality of Nobunaga. The wave of power blew through the enclosing muskets.

Artoria then turned her spear on Nobunaga, who had been blown away by the wave of power. "The Spear That Shines To The Ends Of The Earth."

Nobunaga is not going to lie, for a last words, that was not half bad.

An excerpt from the historiographical essay "Comparing Legends of Ancient Empires, Parallels between Ancient China and the Roman Empire":

Due to the peculiarities of the early formations of Nations and Empires, acquiring a significant number of preserved literatures, biographies and myths of various states of the past is not particularly difficult. But still, a detailed analysis of emerging similarities is of certain interest in historical research.

It is like the study of the widespread emergence of the 'flood' myth in early human society.

Divine right, the earliest justification for rule, is presented in the history of ancient China as Heavenly Mandate. While the Roman Empire and its tradition of deifying emperors are significantly related, but of greater interest is the legendary 'violation' of this rule.

In particular, the existence of Jing Ke, an assassin sent to assassinate the future Emperor Qin Shi Huang, is not questioned by modern historians. Yet, at the same time, the existence of an unknown assassin who attempted to assassinate Emperor Nero is currently classified as a historical legend.

An interesting fact about Emperor Nero, is that after the exhumation and analysis of their remains, are assumed to be a carrier of a rare genotype, probably a result of Klinefelter's syndrome, which makes it impossible to correctly determine their biological sex.

Although, the very fact of a possible assassination attempt which ended unsuccessfully with the 'near-death' of Nero, is probable. The participation of a 'murderer from distant lands, sent by barbarians who was killed at the hands of the living dead' does not cause significant disagreement among historians. It is nothing more than myth, probably created by the early Christians at the time.

It seems that this legend was born from not only the degree of despair to which the people were brought to during the reign of Nero, but also the alienation of the very idea of attacking the Emperor in the minds of ordinary people.

In particular, the part of the assassin being from 'distant lands' clearly denotes how alien the idea of killing the Emperor for the inhabitants of the Roman Empire.

The part where the legend tells that the assassin was hired by 'barbarians' reflects how un-Roman like such an act was seen.

And the supposed death of the Assassin at the hands of the 'living dead' clearly reflects the belief of the Romans on the 'divine punishment' one would receive for committing such an act, An act anathema to the convictions of the inhabitants of the Roman Empire.

However, the historical consensus about the legendary act being a myth has not yet caused the closure of existing popular tours to the site of the preservation of the dried mummy of the alleged Nero's 'assassin'. Which, after DNA testing, turned out to be a woman with genetic markers for the inhabitants of ancient China. There might be a grain of truth to the myth.

Although, at the moment, there is no sufficiently logical reason about how exactly a resident of China could have been near Rome at the time of her death. Whatever the reality might be - it will definitely turn out to be more realistic than the existence of the Assassin of Nero that was 'murdered by the living dead'...