“Gotta admit, this feels a bit surreal.”

Both Tamamo and Mash glanced up from their spots on the ground. They were currently in Ritsu’s tent, sitting on the ground while using their bedrolls (a spare one in Tamamo’s case) as cushions. Between them was a small pot of boiling water, helpfully lit by a talisman emitting a small yet intense flame. After the water had been brought down to a more reasonable temperature, the fox miko ladled the water into cups with tea bags nestled within.

“What do you mean, senpai?” the shielder asked in curiosity.

Ritsu gestured around them. “Not an hour ago, everyone was fighting like crazy,” she explained. “It was all chaos, excitement, loud noises, et cetera, et cetera. And now we’re here just… enjoying a nice cup of tea in peace. Like, I’m not the only one getting whiplash from that, am I? Or am I just going crazy?”

“Observing the calm after a battle is not uncommon, however strange it may feel,” Tamamo reassured her as she gently sipped at her tea. “If there are no tasks for us to do, then it is imperative for us to recover our strength. It was a hard-fought victory, after all.”

“Well,” Ritsu stammered. “I mean…”

The Caster shot a stern glare over her cup. “I do hope, Master, you do not intend on rushing out and doing more?” she asked, an edge to her tone. A twitch of her ears further belayed her irritation at Ritsu’s impatience and fidgeting.

Ritsu stiffened, then slouched. “No, Tamamo,” she muttered. Satified, the miko nodded and continued sipping her tea. Still, it didn’t sit well with the Master – all she did was sit in the back, barking orders. She really didn’t do much overall. Everyone said otherwise, but how was she supposed to believe that when everyone risked life and limb and she was all safe and sound in the distance?

In the meantime, most of the army were back at the camp with them. They were busy either recuperating or mending their gear and organizing. Boudica had taken a squad of fresher troops over to the fortress to secure it, checking to make sure it was safe to hold after all it had been through. From preliminary inspections, the outer fortifications were in decent condition despite Tamamo’s bombardment.

The same couldn’t be said for the keep. While it had been damaged from Tamamo’s curses, the duel between Caesar and Spartacus had been the tipping point. Their fight had been so fierce that the structure was rendered incredibly unstable, completely unfit for habitation. Engineers would have to be sent in later to either repair or salvage the fortress as necessary, but for now, there were standing orders not to enter without due cause. In the meantime, what few supplies were quickly found and carried out before they could tempt the fragility of the structure any further.

The Master soon grinned again. “Still, you two were freaking awesome!” she cried. “Tamamo, your spells were ridiculous. Those explosions were beyond insane and provided every opening we needed for the attack. Mashumallow, you were kicking those URE troops’ asses up and down the field. It was awe-inspiring to watch you work. God, it was almost like watching a movie!”

“Oh, um, th-thank you, senpai,” Mash stammered in surprise, her red quickly turning crimson from embarrassment. “It was because o-of the directions you gave that we were able to work s-so effectively, after all.”

Ritsu blinked and waved it off. “Bah, I didn’t do much,” she replied easily. “You guys did all the hard work. Really, I was short a bucket of popcorn from being just an audience member here.” She took a gulp of her tea – and recoiled. “Oh god, too hot, too hot,” she mumbled before blowing on her tea, trying to cool it down before taking another sip.

Tamamo could only sigh. “Master, are you going to continue downplaying yourself like this?” she asked impatiently, to both Ritsu’s and Mash’s surprise. “It was your plan that ended up breaching Caesar’s fortress, was it not? And it was you who managed to discover his class. Also, your handling of the battle afterward, adapting to the situation at hand. I believe these were all your feats, no?”

The Master blinked at the straightforwardness of the Caster as she stared straight at her. “You are our Master,” she emphasized. “Giving commands as you did is your prerogative and making sure to see the battle through. In both aspects, you have handled yourself well. Take some pride in that.”

Blinking in surprise, Ritsu struggled to find a decent response to Tamamo’s words. Eventually, she could only laugh sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Heh, that has to be the most annoyed pep talk I think I’ve ever had,” she commented ruefully. However, she didn’t acknowledge Tamamo’s words, instead sipping her tea nervously. Honestly, while what Tamamo said was true, she still couldn’t help but feel… inadequate in all aspects. But given how annoyed the Caster was, she decided against speaking any further on the subject.

Mash meanwhile looked nervously between the two, not even touching a drop of her tea. “Erm, your magecraft is quite unique, Caster!” she burst out, trying to alleviate the awkwardness between the two. “Is that onmyoji or some other form of Eastern magecraft? Caesar seemed to have a hard time figuring out beyond the basics.”

Tamamo blinked as the shielder spoke up, then chuckled. “It is not onmyoji, dear Mash,” she answered. “It is simply some fox mysteries I can utilize and direct. They’re quite versatile, as you can tell.”

“Is that something I can learn?” Ritsu immediately spoke up, her eyes burning.

The question and the intensity of the Master’s gaze caught both of them off-guard, the two of them looking at each other in bewilderment before turning back to Ritsu. “Not easily,” Tamamo answered quietly. “It would take years of study, as well as a proclivity for magecraft that most of humanity no longer possess.” Let alone someone as incapable as Ritsu came the unspoken statement that hung heavily in the air like a dark cloud.

Ritsu in turn only blinked, silent for a moment, then laughed. “Pft, of course,” she replied easily with a grin. “If it was that easy, everyone would be doing it – though of course, not to your level, Tamamo.” She chuckled as she shook her head, staring into her cup of tea. “Would be nice, though,” she murmured as she took another careful sip.

Tamamo gave Ritsu a deadpan stare before sighing, relenting on whatever lecture she had for the Master. “After you’re finished, lay on your stomach,” she gently commanded the Master, to her surprise. “We have been through quite a bit – I believe a massage is in order to alleviate exhaustion and stress, especially since we will be marching once more before long.”

The redhead’s eyes widened, then she immediately started chugging the tea down – and making a muffled yelp of pain as the hot tea scalded her mouth once more. Tamamo could only give an exasperated sigh before smiling as Mash began fretting. The eagerness of youth and ambition. How refreshing.

-----------

Spartacus sat on a nearby hill, looking over the ruined fortress. His eyes tracked the path of his battle with the oppressor, each crater or furrow left in the rubble and the ground a record of their crossed swords. He was well out of sight of the soldiers, though still within earshot if someone called for assistance, allowing him to sit in peace. And to ponder – for there was much to ponder.

The Berserker was keeping his distance from the camp and the Roman soldiers for now. After witnessing his victory over Caesar, they were terrified of him. While only oppressors needed to fear him, he could understand their reasoning: the power needed to shatter the shackles of oppression was great, and oftentimes ugly. He encapsulated that power, and while he had absolutely no regrets using Crying Warmonger to destroy the oppressor, even he knew that it was unsightly. The soldiers didn’t need to be oppressed by his presence.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

Glancing up, Spartacus noticed Boudica standing nearby with a small smile. “I thought you’d be celebrating your victory over the oppressors,” she pointed out. “Something the matter?”

Spartacus didn’t say anything for a moment, turning back to stare at the battle. “I am not sure I killed an oppressor,” he murmured.

Boudica blinked in surprise at the statement. “And what makes you say that?” she questioned.

Raising a finger, he pointed at the fortress. “I fought the oppressor in that fortress,” he stated. “He told me he was not oppressing anybody, and that he simply wished to bring everyone back into the fold of the rightful Roman empire. He spoke a truth and a lie. I did not see him oppressing anyone – he may have oppressed back in the past, but not now – but he was not fighting to bring the empire under his fold.”

He glanced up at the Rider. “You told me he did not wish to fight, yes?” he asked.

Boudica again blinked and slowly nodded in affirmation, wondering where this conversation was going.

Spartacus huffed. “Then he was not fighting for that wish,” he muttered. “If that is the case, then he was being oppressed in turn, fighting for a war he did not believe in. I have destroyed someone who was oppressed and only realized it afterward. I do not know if that makes me an oppressor.”

The Iceni queen was silent as she pondered the Berserker’s words. The legend of Spartacus was well known – leading a rebellion of slaves against the tyranny of the Roman empire, he was a well-known, skilled gladiator with both excellent fighting skills and martial prowess. While he ultimately failed, what his rebellion stood for and his ideals still shone brightly even until modern day. Thus, it was no surprise that such a realization would cause no small amount of contemplation.

The Rider sat down beside Spartacus, looking out with him over at the fortress. “Hm, I can see why you’d think that,” she mused. “However, I don’t think you are.”

The Berserker glanced over at Boudica. “And why makes you so sure?”

Boudica smiled sadly. “If what the girls told me is right, then Caesar most likely wasn’t fighting of his own free will,” she murmured. “He is a Servant beholden to a Master, after all. You know how the contract works - There wasn’t an easy way to break him out of his shackles.”

Spartacus huffed as he clenched his hands. “Being a Servant is oppression,” he growled.

“Only under the wrong Master,” Boudica corrected, quickly recognizing the Berserker’s chain of logic. “Caesar was working with a Master who would see humanity destroyed, something he certainly didn’t want. Honestly, I think what you did was a mercy for the emperor.”

That caused the Berserker to glance over at Rider in surprise, then furrow his eyebrows in thought. “So, I liberated Caesar from his own oppression… by killing him,” he muttered.

“It’s very much a last resort,” Boudica sighed. “But I think he was glad you took him out. You did stop him from being oppressed, after all.”

There was a moment of silence as the gladiator thought about the Rider’s words, following the train of logic. “Then… we must go after the oppressor, still,” Spartacus rumbled in conclusion. “Caesar’s Master.”

Boudica nodded. “Most likely,” she agreed. “At the end of the day, that’s all we can really do – try to accept what we’ve done and move forward to doing better. Just like you are.”

The Berserker was quiet. “The past truly is the greatest oppressor,” he murmured. Then he turned to Boudica and nodded. “Thank you for speaking with me about this.”

The Rider smiled again. “Anytime,” she replied. With that, she stood up. “I’m going to check on the troops and the girls,” she explained. “If you need anything, just let me know.” She gave Spartacus’s shoulder a gentle pat, then walked off back towards the camp, leaving the gladiator alone once more.

Spartacus watched her leave, then turned back to the fortress. The line between oppressors and oppressed was murky. He would have to puzzle it out, but in the end, his end goal would be the same, one way or another.

Oppressors will be crushed. No more, no less.

----------

Mash blinked as she looked around. There was nothing but darkness and emptiness all around her. The only thing she could see was her own self, lit by some unseen, unknown light source. She couldn’t even see the ground she was standing on. She was still in her armor as a demi-Servant – probably for the best. She wasn’t sure if this place was hostile or not.

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It was certainly odd. After having tea with Tamamo and Ritsu, she went to bed for the evening, then found herself here. She felt oddly adrift, like she weighed half as much as she actually did. Most likely she was asleep, and despite the logically unnerving circumstances she found herself in, she felt… safe. A sensation that certainly had her curiosity – and her wariness.

Turning, she saw something strange: A cell door made bars made of blue light floating in the air. A red glow emanated from the other side, obscuring whatever lay behind the door. Normally, everything about this screamed danger to her, yet for some reason, she didn’t feel afraid. She slowly walked toward the door, her footsteps utterly silent in the void. Reaching it, she raised her hand… and hesitated. This all felt too odd. Was this a trap of some sort? Perhaps it was a form of magecraft? Tamamo had erected bounded fields to prevent such a thing from happening, but caution was warranted here.

Could she even leave?

“Your caution is understandable and commendable, Ms. Kyrielight. But you have naught to fear here.”

The booming voice, sounding both familiar and unfamiliar, caught the shielder by surprise. Whirling around, she found the source: A flaming being with a red coat, wearing a top hat with claws and blade-like feet – no, heels. Out of his legs were a large pair of crimson wings. In lieu of a face was a metal mask, where blue flames resembling eyes and a grin burned.

It took Mash a second to recognize him, but the being was utterly mistakeable to her. After all, her senpai summoned him countless times already. “You’re Ren-senpai’s persona,” she gasped. “You’re… Arsene, right? Like Arsene Lupin?”

Although the face of Arsene didn’t change, Mash got a distinct feeling that his ‘grin’ widened. “That is correct,” he replied, bowing deeply. “I am Arsene. It is a pleasure to meet at last, Ms. Kyrielight. You have made quite an impression on my other self, enough to form an arcana with him.”

That term was unfamiliar. “An arcana?” Mash echoed.

“A bond,” Arsene explained. “Most people only have one persona. However, my other self is a ‘Wild Card’ – one who can bear multiple personas. Such personas can be altered and strengthened by the power of their bonds, each one corresponding to an arcana.”

Mash blinked in surprise. “So these arcanas, these bonds, are the source of Ren-senpai’s strength?” she asked.

Arsene nodded. “One of many,” he confirmed.

The shielder pondered. Ren did talk about his powers, but never in great detail. “Is it okay for you to tell me all this?” she asked, worried. “These are Ren-senpai’s powers, after all. Aren’t they supposed to be secret?”

The persona chuckled, the sound echoing throughout the void. “In regard to him, ‘I am thou, thou art I,’” he replied. “If I am explaining all this to you, then that would mean my other self wished for you to know, if subconsciously. The realm of dreams and cognition is a place where reality and wishes meld, after all.”

The realm of dreams...? She recalled during her studies that a Servant could witness their Master’s memories via dreams or vice versa, but this was unprecedented. Then again, everything revolving Ren-senpai had been unprecedented and frankly, she had been burning with questions about him. So far, everything here only further inflamed her curiosity.

She glanced over at the cell door. “What’s through here?” she asked curiously.

Arsene followed her gaze. “That leads to my other self’s inner realm,” he stated, nodding at the door. “His greatest treasures reside within. No one can enter without his express permission.”

His burning eyes turned to Mash. “Permission that you have,” he finished.

That caught Mash off guard. “That I-“ she stammered, looking back at the door in shock. Ren-senpai’s inner realm? And she had permission? It all boggled her mind as she struggled to make sense of it all. “But… why does he… why would Ren-senpai…?”

“My other self has said he trusts you, did he not?” Arsene said. “He does not make such statements lightly. His bonds are inviolable, as much a part of him as I am. You may think otherwise, but he relies on you greatly, and that comes with a great degree of trust. I am simply here to show you the way.”

The shielder could only stare at Arsene before turning back to the door. Ren-senpai trusted her this much that he would allow her into his inner realm? What would she find within? What would she witness? What about the secrets Ren-senpai held? Would it truly be okay for her to witness all of them? Her curiosity burned ever brighter as she considered it all. She wanted to know so much. Perhaps it would be a way to finally stand shoulder to shoulder with him. Lifting her hand, she reached toward the door…

And stopped.

Arsene meanwhile stared impassively. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do you not wish to know more about him?”

Mash hesitantly, then resolutely lowered her hand, shaking her head. “Senpai probably has a lot of secrets within, things he doesn’t want to tell people about, for one reason or another,” she replied. “Until I get permission from him directly and he has knowledge of where I’m going, I won’t enter.”

“Even when I, as his true self, grant you permission?” the persona prodded.

The shielder nodded. “Even then,” she confirmed. Smiling, the girl bowed toward Arsene. “I thank you for the opportunity and your permission, but this is something I must speak to Ren-senpai about. I hope you understand.”

There was a moment of silence as Arsene gazed down at Mash without moving, then he started laughing. The mirthful sound boomed and echoed throughout the empty void. “Very well, then!” he cried. “I understand and honor your determination, Ms. Kyrielight! My other self values you greatly, and I find now even more reasons to! This is not a privilege he shares lightly, after all.”

With that, he bowed once more to Mash. “I thank you,” he said. “For being my other self’s stalwart companion and ally even when all seemed lost. Speak with him, then, and strengthen your bond. After that, I have no doubt we will meet again.”

Mash smiled. “I hope so,” she agreed. “But until then, thank you again, Mr. Arsene. It was an honor to meet you.”

The persona’s smile seemed to widen. “I assure you, the honor was mine,” Arsene replied earnestly. “But for now, I bid you adieu. Until next time, Ms. Kyrielight.”

With that, both persona and the cell door faded from view, leaving Mash in the void.

------------

“And that’s how we took Gaul and beat Caesar!”

Marie dutifully typed up the report as Ritsu told the entire account of their siege, not even bothering to suppress her wonder. “Magnifique!” she exclaimed. “It must’ve been truly a spectacular battle to behold! The others here were brainstorming plans here to assist you, but that is truly a unique idea. The others most definitely will commend you for it!”

Ritsu chuckled sheepishly as she rubbed the back of her neck. “I just thought of a weird, harebrained idea,” she admitted. “I’m just happy it worked. The others were the ones doing most of the work anyway. Speaking of which, how are Ren and Morgana so far?”

The Rider pursed her lips as she took a look at their most recent reports. “Monsieur Morgana is still sailing,” she answered. “Apparently he is working with legate Evander on securing the resupply route by sea. Monsieur Ren is still marching towards Masilia. So far, no complications. Are you going to rendezvous with Ren?”

“Not immediately,” Ritsu replied. “Boudica wants to have the Roman forces set up here before we make our way back and assess the damage. We’re probably gonna be helping her with that. But once that’s done, we’ll meet up with Ren at Masilia as planned.”

Marie nodded. “Tres bien,” she said. “I believe that should cover it. How are you faring though, Ritsu? You seem to be rather exhausted lately.”

That caught the Master by surprise, who then sighed. “Jeez, was it that obvious?” she grumbled. “I’m really not used to sleeping outdoors here. Maybe a short camping trip, sure, but just constantly on the march like this? Ugh. You’ll hear it first from me: Never take a nice bed for granted.”

The queen giggled in reply. “I do believe Messieurs Ren and Morgana had a similar opinion back in Orleans,” she commented, remembering their own march back in the singularity. “I take it modern standards haven’t improved soldiers’ equipment greatly, then?”

Both of them chat and gossiped for a good long while, Marie having long stopped writing the report as their discussion hadn’t been of much mission relevance. After a while, they hung up as Ritsu left to go get some lunch, leaving the Rider to stretch in her chair, letting out a soft sigh. She was almost sad that she hadn’t been able to go along with the ground team, with all their interesting adventures, but at least being here somewhat made up for it.

“Thanks for covering, Marie.”

Blinking in surprise, she turned to see Roman walking back up with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. He looked haggard as always, though it was still an improvement compared to when it was just him manning the console all day, every day. Marie smiled back in turn. “It is hardly a problem, Monsieur Romani,” she gracefully replied. “But I thought Madamoiselle Da Vinci asked you to take a longer break? She was quite insistent on that.”

Roman chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, she did,” he admitted. “But honestly, sitting still is only making me more restless, and I’ve already walked endless loops around Chaldea to try and relax. Plus, Magi*Mari isn’t streaming right now, so not much of a distraction for me.”

Marie pouted as she regarded the tired doctor. “Then I’m not sure if I should allow you to man the console once more, Monsieur,” she stated. “After all, by your admittance, you are not fully rested, non? You should be resting once more.”

The doctor sighed as he raised his free hand in surrender. “I overheard your conversation with Ritsu,” he said. “At the very least, it seems like I won’t have to do much for now. I’ll take the station for an hour just to settle my nerves, and then hop back off to try resting some more. Is that a deal?”

The queen stared hard at the doctor, who was almost squirming in place, then sighed. “It seems I shall not dissuade you,” she commented. “Very well. I will resume my station here after an hour, and no later. I do hope you’ll keep to your word.”

Roman sighed in relief as he smiled. “I promise,” he replied gratefully.

Marie simply giggled before standing up, allowing the doctor to resume his station. Leaving him to his work, she walked out of the command room, humming a small tune to herself. While Servants had no need to eat, she was in the mood for something sweet. Perhaps a small cake and a cup of tea would do. Then she would have to meet up with the more war-knowledgeable Servants and tell them what had transpired in Gaul. No doubt they would have much to say about it.

As she walked along the wall, a strange sound caught her ear. It sounded like an impact on something soft, yet loud? Altering her course, she decided to investigate. Walking down a couple doors, she soon found herself at the gym. It was a surprisingly expansive facility, stocked with exercise machines and weights all around. A shelf nearby held items such as towels and yoga mats, parked right next to a water fountain. There was a door that led to the showers and changing rooms on the other side. There was even a fighting ring on one side of the gym as well.

Despite how well-stocked the gym was, however, it was clear that for the most part it was unused. Everything was far too neat and organized for it to be natural and Marie was certain most people were either working, eating, or resting in their rooms to do a lot of working out. Perhaps once a better equilibrium was established it would see more use but for now, it was deserted, save for one occupant.

Martha breathed quietly as she landed another set of blows on a punching bag, switching between hands and legs. Despite the powerful blows, the punching bag didn’t rupture or break as one would except from a Servant’s sheer might. It simply swayed with each impact as though the saint was a normal person. A powerful punch sent it swinging backward, followed by a set of kicks.

Marie could only watch silently as Martha trained. Her blows were almost too fast for her Servant senses to register, and each blow from the sound alone would most likely inflict a lot of damage on whatever it hit. She was no expert of martial arts herself, but at the very least it seemed impressive to her. Certainly not something she wanted to be on the receiving end of.

The saint finally stopped after a combo, grabbing the punching bag to stop it from swinging before huffing a breath, wiping some sweat off her brow – and jumping almost literally twenty feet into the air as she heard enthusiastic clapping behind her. Whipping around, she was greeted by the enthusiastic face of Marie Antoinette. “That was truly magnifique, Martha!” she exclaimed. “I know little of such things, but your blows were astounding! They were truly wondrous to witness!”

The saint could only sweat as she desperately began racking her brain for a way out of this. The praise was nice and Marie was kind, but she had an image to maintain! Oh, she hoped the Lord hadn’t been looking her way – she had been too tempted by the punching bag to restrain herself! “I-I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered, her eyes darting about as she looked for an escape. “A s-saint is composed at all times and not given to p-punching things.”

The queen stared at Martha curiously, then giggled. “Of course, of course,” she quickly accepted. “How silly of moi. But I was curious – how would one of these bags withstand the power of a Servant? As far as I’m aware, these were designed for human use, non?”

Martha blinked at the question, then nodded. “Normally, yes,” she agreed. “But apparently there’s a little setting here that allows it to be used by Servants.” She pointed over to a tiny monitor nearby connected to where the punching bag was hanging. “It probably uses some form of magecraft to reinforce it? At the very least, it makes it very resilient.”

Then the saint’s eyes widened as she caught herself. “N-not that I would know anything about that!” she hurriedly added. “It’s just something I guess is the case! Yep!”

Marie giggled at the saint’s response. “Quite, quite,” she easily responded. Martha was so adorable when she was flustered. She wound up a fist and punched the bag – and found her arm jarred as the bag barely moved from her blow. “Mon dieu!” she cursed as she shook her arm, “That was far harder than I expected! How do people hit these things all day long?”

The saint glanced over. “Well, it’s a lot of training,” she immediately explained. “But honestly, it’s all about technique. Punching isn’t just about the fist – your arm plays into it too. In fact, it’s a whole body kind of movement.” Once more, the saint caught herself. “Erm, speaking theoretically, of course!” she immediately added. “It’s just something I heard of a lot, not something I’ve experienced myself!”

The Rider had to wonder just how long Martha was going to keep up at the act, but so long as she wasn’t comfortable sharing, she wasn’t going to push it. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t work around it – or try to push it to her advantage. “So in that case,” Marie inquired. “How would one theoretically punch so it doesn’t hurt as much?”

Martha hesitated, then sighed, her shoulders sagging. There wasn’t any reason to deny her and besides, the queen saw through her act anyway, as depressing as it was. “You’ll want to keep your first and arm straight,” she advised, gently fixing Marie’s stance and technique. “Make sure it’s all one solid line. Keep your legs spread and knees bent so you have good grounding and footing. And now try punching like that.”

Marie followed Martha’s advice, diligently, then punched. The impact was considerably more resounding – though very much lacking compared to the saint’s far heavier blows – much to her delight. She clapped happily. “Tres bien!” she cheered. “You are a wonderful teacher, Martha! Might I ask you to continue teaching me?”

Blinking in surprise, her mouth worked up and down, trying to work up an answer… and once more could only sigh in resignation. “Sure, I can teach you some stuff,” she answered. Might as well – some martial skill never hurt anyone. If Marie wanted to learn, then she had no reason to deny it.

“Oh? We working on punches? Let me in on this! I want some practice!”

Both women whirled around to see Cu Chulainn walking in, rotating his arm. Well, of course the Irish hero would be up for it. So long as he doesn’t ask for a spar, it should be fine. He would probably know to keep a secret… until Jeanne, who had apparently been with the Lancer, walked in as well. She smiled kindly over Martha. “Might I have some lessons as well?” the French saint asked innocently.

Lord, please have mercy on me! Martha prayed desperately - to no avail.

It was another peaceful day in Chaldea.