Chapter 87. The Clown's Heroic Tale: Holy Sword Delivery Service!
Mythological Age, the fated path to Black Iron City — The Great Canyon of Death.
This was a natural deathtrap that even birds feared to cross. On either side stood towering black cliffs that reached the clouds; between them lay a single winding path barely three meters wide. The canyon floor was perpetually shrouded in thick white mist, from which the thunderous sound of some gargantuan creature turning over would occasionally echo.
For ordinary adventurers, this was a one-way road named Despair. But for the five individuals currently sprinting through the canyon, it felt more like the filming set of an extreme obstacle-course reality show.
"Waaaaah! Why are the rocks moving?!"
Argo let out a scream loud enough to shatter glass. Flailing his arms, he sprinted across the gravel road with a frantic, uncoordinated gait. Rolling behind his backside at a speed that defied the laws of physics was a massive boulder about five meters in diameter. Moreover, this rock had a hideous, gaping maw, clearly intent on sampling the texture of a "future hero's" rump.
"That's a [Rock Mimic]! And an elite one at that!" Wishe, running behind him, shouted with exasperation. "And stop screaming! Your voice is going to attract even more monsters!"
"But it's chasing me! It's really chasing me! Brother Emiya! Help!" Argo turned back, tears streaming down his face as he begged for rescue.
"Honestly... I knew it would come to this." Shirou Emiya, running at the back of the pack, sighed. He was currently carrying the still-heavy supply pack while lugging two "ingredients" (Ancient Dodos) he had knocked out along the way.
Trace — On.
Shirou didn't stop his pace. He simply freed one hand and made a grasping motion toward the rolling rock. His Magic Circuits flared. There was no need to project a high-level Noble Phantasm; to deal with a monster that relied on gravitational potential energy, one only needed a little "shock of physics."
Projection — Lubricant (Grease). No, to be precise: [Grease Trap].
Splut! A massive puddle of black, incredibly slick magical grease manifested out of thin air on the road directly in front of the Rock Mimic.
Crrraaaash! The Rock Mimic had no time to brake. It rolled straight onto the oily surface. Friction instantly dropped to zero. Like an out-of-control bowling ball, it ceased its pursuit of Argo and slid straight off the cliffside. With a piercing shriek, it plummeted into the bottomless abyss.
"Strike!" Shirou snapped his fingers.
"S-Saved..." Argo collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air as if his soul had half-departed his body. "Brother Emiya, was that magic? That was so cowardly... no, so ingenious!"
"It's survival wisdom." Shirou walked over and hauled Argo up. "Don't sit down. There's more trouble ahead. According to my 'radar,' we've stumbled into quite the high-level dungeon."
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Afternoon, Mid-Canyon.
Though they had shaken off the Rock Mimic, the team's tribulations were only beginning. The monster density in this era was ridiculously high, and there was no sense of ecological balance—it was a random spawn mechanism designed purely to "grind players into the dirt."
"So hungry..." Olna dragged her giant axe, her stomach let out a thunderous growl. "Emiya, is it mealtime yet? I've swung my axe fifty times already; the calories I've burned are enough to feed a bull."
"I'm hungry too... my mana is almost dry..." Crozzo leaned against his heavy anvil, his face pale.
Looking at his group of hungry teammates, Shirou shook his head helplessly. It seemed they had to pause their journey.
"Rest here! Prepare for lunch!" At Shirou's command, the entire team was instantly revitalized.
"Um... Brother Emiya." Argo leaned in, looking mysterious while holding a strangely shaped branch. "I found a delicious-looking egg over there, about this big!" He gestured an exaggerated circle. "Should we steal it for an extra dish?"
An egg? Shirou's [Mind's Eye] twitched. Eggs appearing in a place like this usually meant one of two things: a top-tier ingredient, or...
Before Shirou could stop him, a crisp crack came from the distant bushes. Immediately after, a truck-sized [Wyvern] descended from the sky, furiously venting a blast of flame at the clown who had tried to steal her egg.
"Waaaaah! It's a dragon mommy! My mistake! I was just passing by!" Argo switched into flight mode again with heartbreaking proficiency.
Trace — Project. Shirou sighed. Kanshou and Bakuya flew from his hands, precisely interrupting the Wyvern's breath. "Olna! Main attack! Crozzo! Enchant the axe! Wishe! Shoot the eyes! Argo... you just cheer from the side!"
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Fifteen minutes later. A fragrant [Roasted Wyvern Wing] sat over the campfire. As for the egg, for the sake of ecological balance (and because it wasn't cooked), Shirou returned it to the nest.
"Divine! Simply divine!" Argo chewed on a dragon wing larger than his face, his mouth covered in grease. "This texture, this temperature! Brother Emiya, if you ever open a restaurant, I must be your star mascot!"
"I refuse. A shop like that would definitely go bankrupt," Shirou responded flatly while flipping the meat.
"Speaking of which, Emiya." Wishe elegantly ate a small piece of sliced meat, watching him. "That ability to create weapons out of thin air and produce seasonings at will... are you truly human? In this era, even Elven royalty doesn't possess such authority."
"Just a trick of 'fakes'." Shirou didn't explain much. It was too much trouble to explain things like "Magic Circuits" and the "Throne of Heroes" to ancient people.
"Fakes, huh..." Argo set down his bone, his gaze suddenly turning deep. He looked at the iron tongs Shirou had projected, lost in thought. "Brother Emiya, did you know? Actually, I've always felt like a fake myself."
"Eh?" Everyone looked at the man who usually did nothing but brag.
"I want to be a hero." Argo watched the firelight, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "But I don't have Olna's monstrous strength, Crozzo's skill, or Wishe's magic. I only have this mouth, and this..." He pulled the wooden sword from his waist, the one Shirou had enchanted with lightning. "This sword that doesn't even have an edge."
"In front of real monsters, I can only run. In the face of real crisis, I can only scream." Argo laughed at himself. "The so-called Argonautica is really just the Chronicles of a Running Clown, isn't it? Can someone like me... really save the Princess? Can I really be called a hero?"
The atmosphere grew heavy. Even Wishe, who usually loved to bite back at him, remained silent.
Snap. A piece of wood popped in the fire, sending up sparks.
Shirou Emiya set down his tongs. He looked at Argo. There was no mockery in his eyes, nor pity. Only a sense of... understanding a "kindred spirit."
"Argo," Shirou began. "Did you know? In this world, so-called 'genuine' heroes are actually very few. Most people are imitating, struggling, and just barely holding on."
He pointed to himself. "I am a fake, too. My swords are borrowed, my ideals are borrowed, even my life... in a sense, is borrowed. But..." Shirou stood up and walked to Argo. He reached out and gripped the hilt of the wooden sword.
"A fake does not necessarily lose to the real thing. As long as you follow through to the end. As long as in the process of 'playing the hero,' you truly save even a single person... then in that moment, you are the real deal."
"Running isn't shameful. Screaming isn't a disgrace. What matters is..."
Shirou pointed to the path behind them. "In the fight just now, you were the first to draw the Wyvern away, giving Olna time to charge her strike. In the trap earlier, you were the one who tested the ground with your body, allowing us to avoid the quicksand."
"Though the posture is ugly. Though the process is farcical. You... have always been at the very front."
Argo froze. He looked into Shirou's amber eyes, seeing his own painted, ridiculous face reflected there. But in that reflection, he seemed to see... a glowing soul.
"The very front...?" Argo murmured. His eyes grew moist. He gave a sharp sniff and then cracked a smile that looked more painful than crying. "Hehe... hehehe... as expected of Brother Emiya! Only you truly understand me! That's right! I am the man who charges at the very front! I am—the handsome but misunderstood Tragic Hero, Argo!"
The atmosphere shattered instantly.
"Shut up! Who was the one who almost peed their pants just now?!" Wishe couldn't help but kick him. "Exactly! Don't let a little sunshine go to your head!" Olna added a punch.
"Ow ow ow! Is this the lash of love?!" Argo rolled on the ground.
Watching this slapstick scene, Shirou smiled. This was Argo. This was... the origin of a hero. No need to be high and mighty, no need to be perfect. As long as one can make people smile, as long as one can bring a sliver of hope named "farce" to despair—that is enough.
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Afternoon, the team continued forward.
After crossing the canyon, a massive black fortress appeared on the horizon. [Black Iron City (Iron Keep)]. The domain of Eld, the Black King, and their first stop.
"It's huge..." Lyra (though not here, but in Shirou's memory) would probably have said that. It was a city forged entirely of obsidian and steel, with walls a hundred meters high bristling with ballistae and magic towers. A chilling aura of slaughter wafted from it.
"So, what's the plan?" Olna shouldered her axe, eyes sparkling. "Do we just hack our way in?"
"No, that's too slow and will draw the main army." Shirou shook his head. "We're using—Plan B."
"Plan B?" The group was confused.
"It's... that." Shirou pulled out the sword he had meticulously "modded"—[Pseudo Caliburn: Bomb Version].
The sword's exterior was ornate to the extreme, inlaid with various gemstones (actually glass), and the blade emitted a holy golden light (actually light-and-shadow magecraft). No matter how one looked at it, this was a priceless "Sword of Kings."
"We'll say..." A "nuclear-kind" smile curled on Shirou's lips. "We're here to offer a treasure. We use this sword to trade for a pass to the Royal Capital. Of course, if that Black King tries anything funny... I'll show him what it means when people say 'Art is an Explosion'."
"So devious..." Wishe took a subconscious step back. "Are you really an Ally of Justice?"
"Sometimes, for justice, one needs a little... flexibility." Shirou shrugged.
"So, who delivers it?" Crozzo asked. "That guy is a tyrant; an ordinary person would definitely be killed."
"I'll do it!" Argo suddenly raised his hand. He adjusted his jester hat and puffed out his chest. "A stage that requires performing in front of ten thousand troops... only I, the 'Future Great Hero,' can handle it! Besides..." He glanced at the sword in Shirou's hand. "I also want to see what the Black King looks like when he's blown into the sky!"
"Are you sure?" Shirou looked at him. "This is no joke. If you're found out, you'll die."
"Don't worry." Argo gave a confident (though his legs were still shaking) smile. "When it comes to fighting, I'm no good. But when it comes to 'BS-ing'... I'm Level 99!"
Black Iron City, Main Gate.
"Halt! Who goes there?!" The black-armored knights guarding the gate stopped the strange group.
Ahem! Argo stepped forward and cleared his throat. He didn't bow or scrape; instead, he put on an air more arrogant than a king.
"Listen well, mortals! Standing before you is a diplomatic envoy from the far East! We have brought a treasure capable of changing the fate of the world specifically for His Great Majesty, the Black King! If you dare delay us by even a second... the wrath of this sword will burn you and this gate to ashes!"
With that, he suddenly unsheathed the [Pseudo Caliburn] Shirou had handed him. Whir! Dazzling golden light instantly illuminated the guards' faces. That holy aura, that ripple of power that seemed to contain infinite mana... it was definitely a divine artifact!
"This... this is..." The guards were stunned.
"Aren't you going to report?!" Argo barked, pointing the sword tip directly at the guard's nose. "If you delay His Majesty's grand affairs, how many heads do you have to lose?!"
"Y-Yes! Please wait!" The guards were cowed by the aura (actually just the sword's light effects) and scrambled inside to report.
Watching the guards leave, Argo's legs went soft, and he nearly knelt. "Close one... almost blew the performance..."
"Nicely done," Shirou supported him, whispering in his ear. "Next comes the main event. Remember, no matter what happens, do not let go of that sword. That is our entry ticket... and our detonator."
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Ten minutes later. The Great Hall of Black Iron City.
Eld, the Black King, sat upon a high throne. He wore pitch-black full-plate armor, his face scarred and his gaze sinister. Surrounding him were elite knights and several black-robed mages radiating dangerous auras.
"So it is you... who brought the so-called treasure?" Eld's voice echoed in the cavernous hall, carrying a suffocating pressure.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Argo stood in the center of the hall. Though watched by hundreds of eyes and feeling as if his heart might burst, he maintained his farcical yet haughty posture.
"This is... the legendary [Golden Sword of Assured Victory]! An artifact that only a true ruler can wield!"
He raised the longsword high. The golden light erupted again, even outshining the torches in the hall.
"Oh?" Eld stood up, greed flashing in his eyes. "Indeed... I can feel a powerful mana. Bring it up. Let me see."
"Wait." Argo did not move. He looked at the Black King, a cunning smile playing on his lips.
"This sword has a soul. It only acknowledges the strong. And... it is expensive. Very expensive."
"What are you trying to say?" Eld narrowed his eyes, killing intent beginning to permeate the air.
"What I mean is..." Argo took a deep breath. "We don't want money. We only want... a pass through Black Iron City to the Royal Capital. And..." He pointed to the corner of the hall, where slaves (mostly demi-humans) were locked in cages. "Release these innocent people."
"What did you say?" Eld laughed out of pure rage. "A group of ants dares to negotiate with me? Kill them! Seize the sword!"
Clang! The surrounding knights drew their swords simultaneously, closing in on the five.
"I knew it." Shirou, standing behind Argo, let out a resigned sigh. He looked up, his mild gaze instantly turning sharp as a blade.
"Argo, get down!"
"Eh?!"
Shirou snapped his fingers. Trace Trigger!
The runes on the [Pseudo Caliburn] in Argo's hand suddenly turned crimson. It was the sign of mana overload.
"Broken Phantasm!!"
BOOM!!!
It wasn't a total detonation (that would have killed their own side). Shirou controlled the direction of the blast. A golden shockwave erupted from the sword tip like a short-range mana cannon, blasting straight toward the Black King on the throne.
"Wha—?!" Eld had no time to react before being swallowed by the golden light. The throne collapsed. A massive hole was blown into the back wall. The entire hall shook violently as rubble rained down like pebbles.
"Now! Move!" Shirou roared.
Trace — On! Dozens of magic swords projected forth, forming a rain of blades that suppressed the surrounding knights.
Olna charged into the enemy ranks laughing, her axe sweeping through. Crozzo threw smoke bombs. Wishe's magic arrows precisely picked off the mages.
As for Argo... he clutched the "scrap iron" that was now just a hilt and charged toward the slave cages amidst the chaos.
"Don't be afraid! Hero Argo is here to save you!" he shouted, using the hilt (which was actually an extremely hard mystic code) to smash the chains.
"Run! Get outside!"
Chaos, explosions, and war cries. The Great Hall of Black Iron City turned into a battlefield in an instant. And this "Trojan Horse" operation, planned by a clown and a cook, thoroughly ignited the fuse to overthrow the tyranny.
Watching Argo leaping about in the firelight—clumsy, yet desperately trying to save others—the twin blades in Shirou's hands swung even faster.
'Yes. This is what I want to see. Not some high-and-mighty myth. But this... muddy, all-out, fool-like—
Heroic Tale.'
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