Somewhere inside Twilight Manor, Emiya Shirou stared at his right hand—lost in a level of philosophical contemplation he'd never experienced before.
That hand now hovered in a delicate balance between existence and nonexistence.
Pale-gold motes drifted from his fingertips like hourglass sand, only to be yanked back by some invisible law of causality. The sensation had returned—heavy, solid, real—yet under the light, he could still see the blue floral pattern of the bedsheet through his palm.
A physical-layer transparency bug caused by a "failed GPU driver update."
That was probably the price of forcibly installing an ultra-dimensional holy sword patch in a low-magic environment. As a qualified faker, Shirou had learned the hard way what it meant for hardware to lag behind software.
He sighed and clenched his fist.
Power—far beyond anything he'd possessed before—rampaged through his magic circuits. It was the surging drive of a true Level 4. After the existential reconstruction in Floor 60, the "Void Abyss," his body was no longer simple carbon-based biology.
It was evolving toward something closer to a conceptual weapon.
A sword.
Knock, knock, knock.
The rhythmic knocking cut cleanly through his self-diagnosis.
"Come in," Shirou said, drawing the light back in.
The door opened.
Pushing a meal cart wasn't Liliruca or Haruhime.
It was Riveria.
The elven royal wore a simple white outfit, but even dressed down she carried the refined gravity of a ruler. Her emerald eyes showed fatigue she couldn't fully hide.
To study Shirou's unprecedented level-up case, she'd likely spent the entire night running between the library and the alchemy room—possibly arguing with a certain unreliable smithing god along the way.
"Since you're awake, drink this." Riveria stopped beside the bed and set down a bowl. Her tone carried the unmistakable authority of an elder who expected obedience. "Your body may have been physically reconstructed in the Deep Floors, but your mind and mana frequency are still fluctuating in a state best described as 'incompatible.' This stabilizes your soul."
"And," she added icily, "it repairs that stomach of yours—damaged like a sieve."
Shirou stared into the bowl.
The liquid was green. It had faint purple bubbles. It smelled like the alchemy room's idea of chemical warfare.
His throat worked hard.
"Um… Vice-Captain… I feel like my stomach's defensive line can't handle bioweapon-grade soup. Could I… apply for plain rice porridge instead?"
Riveria gave a cold snort and tapped her staff against the floor. The tile rang sharply.
"A man who dares project Ea and partially release it… is afraid of a potion brewed from thirty-two Deep-Floor herbs?"
She leaned in, calm and lethal.
"Emiya Shirou—if you won't drink, I don't mind using a binding spell to administer it at the physical level. Believe me. The experience will not be gentler than taking a punch from the Executioner."
Under the elven royal's "nuclear deterrence," Shirou lifted the bowl like a condemned man raising his final cup—and drank it in one go.
For a moment, his soul felt like it was dancing an insane tango inside his mouth.
But immediately afterward, the constant peeling sensation in his right hand eased.
"Better?" Riveria took the empty bowl.
"Much," Shirou croaked, wiping green residue from the corner of his lips. "I feel like I could go to the back hill and hand-forge a hundred magic swords right now."
Riveria pushed the cart aside. Her expression turned serious.
"Finn is waiting in the conference room. We're discussing Freya's formal declaration and the next 'hardware upgrade' plan for your right arm."
Her gaze pinned him.
"Emiya… the disturbance you've caused has completely destabilized Orario's balance. The Guild has raised your threat level to… the same tier as a Floor Boss."
When Shirou entered, the atmosphere was heavier than he'd expected.
Finn, Gareth, Bete, and the Tiona sisters—just back from the Dungeon—were all present.
Most striking was Loki at the head seat.
Her eyes—usually narrowed into cheerful slits—were open to a thin line, a red divine gleam flickering within.
"Oh?" Loki drawled, mouth still sharp as ever, though a trace of concern peeked through her usual mischief. "Our 'red-haired princess' finally crawled out of bed?"
"So? That feeling like you're being torn in half—gone yet?"
"Please don't give me a nickname like that, Lady Loki," Shirou said, taking the empty seat and looking to Finn. "Captain—how bad is it? The Guild board outside looks like it's about to be plastered over by Freya Familia rosters."
Finn rotated his thumb, voice calm but low.
"Not good. Freya's 'server-wide announcement' has caused panic across the city. The Guild wants to mediate, but this is a formal wager between gods—by contract, they can't forcibly stop it."
"The betting odds across Orario are leaning heavily toward Freya Familia," Finn continued. "They have Ottar, Level 7, and that silver host known as the 'Beauty Guard.'"
Then Finn's eyes sharpened and landed on Shirou's translucent right hand.
"But the critical issue isn't external."
"Emiya—your body right now is like a divine sword that hasn't been properly honed, yet has been force-fed an absurd volume of high-rank data. Your foundation is terrifyingly good, but without core material to support it…"
He spoke like a commander—and like someone who genuinely didn't want to lose him.
"If you force-release anything on the scale of those Noble Phantasms again, your soul will burn out like an overloaded wire. Your Level 4 right now is only a fragile shell."
Riveria added, seamlessly:
"Based on my emergency consultations with Hephaistos, your right arm cannot fully physicalize because the Lower World's laws cannot 'recognize' that degree of mystery."
"What you need is not standard healing or supplies."
"You need reinforcement through something called True Name Confirmation."
Riveria's eyes were steady.
"You must forge—within this world—an actual physical vessel that can carry your will."
"True Name…?" Shirou blinked. "You mean I can't just project anymore. I have to create?"
"Exactly," Loki said, rapping the table. Her voice echoed through the room. "Everything you used to project was basically secondhand goods. Strong, sure—but that was someone else's history."
"If you want to beat that boar-face Ottar in three months' time, you need to forge a weapon that belongs only to you—Emiya Shirou—built from the highest-grade substances this world can provide."
"A true-name divine armament."
In Shirou's mind, the System's golden light quietly flared.
[Quest Objective: Forge a True-Name Armament][Required Material: Dragon Valley — Ancient Dragon Remains][Note: A true craftsman does not rely on the rubble of memory. He carves his own myth.]
Shirou exhaled.
So the System's script and Loki's plan aligned again—like this was simply the mandatory route of his growth.
"Dragon Valley…" Shirou repeated softly. "If I remember right, that's a forbidden zone in the northern surface lands."
Gareth's deep voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"It's a dead land. Since the Great Hole was sealed a thousand years ago, surface monsters became fewer—but Dragon Valley is an exception."
"It's piled with the remains of dragons across generations. The mana there is thick enough to interfere with even a god's 'divine sight.'"
He looked at Shirou as if measuring him against a legend.
"If anything in this world can endure your… complicated soul frequency, it's likely the marrow of an ancient dragon."
Shirou stood. The hesitation was gone—replaced by a simple, hard resolve.
"I'll go."
"If this is the only way to grow stronger—if this is the road I must take to protect everyone—then I can't back down."
"If fate wants me to be a smith…"
He clenched his right hand. Gold motes tightened around his fingers.
"Then I'll forge a blade that can cut even a god."
"I knew you'd say that," Finn said, a faint smile appearing—then vanishing as he raised three fingers.
"But for the sake of balancing our strength in three months, you can't take the Familia's main force with you."
"Aiz must remain in Orario for final extreme training. She needs to break through the Level 6 wall before the decisive clash."
"And Riveria must oversee the mass mana-boost barrier."
Finn's gaze softened slightly.
"So I've arranged special companions."
As if on cue, the heavy wooden door opened again.
A woman strode in—black eyepatch, red cloak, a presence as bold and blazing as a forge-fire.
"Yo!" she laughed. "Emiya, kid! Heard you're going to raid a dragon nest on the surface?"
"How could you not invite Orario's number-one smith to something this fun?!"
"Tsubaki?" Shirou's face lit up.
Tsubaki Collbrande—Hephaistos Familia's leading figure, and Shirou's trusted friend in the craft.
Behind her, another figure slipped in: an elf in a green cloak, eyes cold and steady, holding the short sword Shirou himself had repaired.
"Emiya," Ryuu Lion said quietly, voice calm but carrying a reassuring force. "Finn believes Dragon Valley may share conceptual similarities with the Great Tree Labyrinth on Floor 19."
"As a guerilla fighter, I can help you avoid ancient traps."
"And," she added, gaze hardening, "I don't want to watch you lose another hand."
"Shirou-sama! I want to go too!" Haruhime popped her head out from behind Ryuu, tail trembling with excitement. "My… my level boost will be of great help in collecting dragon remains!"
Shirou looked at the party—Tsubaki's top-class forging skill, Ryuu's combat and infiltration expertise, Haruhime's support magic, and himself.
It was absurdly balanced.
Less "suicidal expedition," more "overpowered picnic."
"Alright," Shirou said, inhaling slowly. "Then I'll be relying on all of you."
Before departure, Loki pulled him aside.
"Hey, brat. Listen carefully."
Her voice dropped—rarely cold, distinctly dangerous.
"Freya's been… off. She set up a giant chessboard up in Babel Tower, and the only red knight on it is you."
"She's serious this time."
"If you run into anything cursed in Dragon Valley you can't handle—use the communication scroll I gave you. Don't go playing martyr alone."
"Got it, Lady Loki," Shirou said with a faint smile, waving.
At the corner, Aiz was waiting.
"Emiya."
"…Yeah?"
Aiz stepped closer and pulled out a small sachet embroidered with a lopsided rabbit—clearly handmade, clearly done by someone with zero embroidery talent.
She awkwardly shoved it into Shirou's hand.
"Riveria made it. She said it wards off evil. It has herbs from Floor 18."
Shirou held it. A gentle medicinal scent rose—mixed with Aiz's own cool, clean presence.
"Thank you, Aiz."
"And while I'm gone… don't train too hard."
"And eat properly. Don't live off fried potato balls."
Aiz shook her head. Her golden eyes locked on Shirou's translucent right hand, then she spoke softly:
"When you come back… if you're weaker…"
"I'll be angry."
"I'll use my sword…"
"…to wake you up."
Shirou smiled.
"I promise."
"I'll come back with a real sword."
Under the Familia's watchful eyes, the special surface expedition team—led by a Level 4—set off for the northern forbidden zone.
The surface wasn't as desolate as Shirou had imagined.
Civilization had spread with the gods' descent. Much of the land had improved.
But at the borders where mana tangled thickly, the world still preserved the ancient era's wild absurdity.
Tsubaki walked with a liquor flask swinging in her hand, eyeing Shirou's right hand with fascination.
"Say, Emiya… can that hand really 'feel' metal breathing just by touching it?"
"I heard Hephaistos mention your Structural Analysis ability. It's basically every smith's dream cheat code."
"Did you secretly sign some contract with the leylines behind our backs?"
"I can," Shirou admitted. He flexed his hand, letting the fingers grasp air—feeling the faint resistance born of the world's rejection. "But the cost is heavy. Every time I analyze high-tier material, it feels like needles in my brain."
He glanced at her.
"Tsubaki—do you have experience with heat-treating dragon bones? I heard even magma can't burn that stuff."
Tsubaki grinned, teeth white and fearless.
"Experience? That's mythical material. I've only seen it in torn pages of ancient texts."
"But don't worry."
She slapped the black iron hammer strapped to her pack.
"I brought my baby."
"Even if it's a god's bones, I'll make sparks fly."
"A smith's romance is challenging the impossible—right?"
On the flank, Ryuu moved with unbroken vigilance. Her pointed ears twitched, capturing every subtle shift in the wind and grass.
Leaving the Dungeon didn't mean safety.
Surface monsters, unbound by floors, were often smarter—better at ambush and coordinated hunts.
"Emiya," Ryuu said suddenly, eyes sharp. "Stay focused."
"The mana density ten kilometers ahead is rising geometrically. We've entered Dragon Valley's outer pressure field."
"This weight will restrict our agility."
Shirou nodded.
With Clairvoyance reinforcing his sight, he could already see the horizon's end:
A valley beneath eternal storm clouds—
And countless enormous skeletons shining faintly white, piled across the land like mountain ranges.
A graveyard of dragons.
A forbidden zone for the living.
Just as they prepared to increase speed, the shadow beside the road twisted unnaturally.
A gray figure appeared in the middle of the path—blocking them.
"Miss Syr?" Shirou halted, instinctively moving his right hand toward the phantom hilt of Kanshou and Bakuya. "Why are you here?"
The one standing there was the hostess of the Hostess of Fertility—
Or rather, a face that looked like Syr, carrying something far deeper.
She smiled gently. Her gray eyes flowed with divinity that could make the world pale in comparison.
Ignoring the weapons nearly being drawn behind Shirou, she stepped forward and placed a ruby ring—cold as winter—into his palm.
"A passerby asked me to give you this charm. Please accept it."
Her voice was airy and warm, yet laced with a sense of fate.
"Emiya Shirou… Dragon Valley holds more than bones."
"It holds buried memories of this world."
"Take care."
"I don't want to win in three months only to receive an empty body without a soul."
"That would make me… very sad."
Shirou looked down at the ring. A complex fleur-cross pattern was engraved into it—the unmistakable mark of Freya.
"Please thank that 'passerby' for me," Shirou said evenly.
He didn't refuse.
He could feel it—pure divine power inside, able to temporarily neutralize the spatial poison he'd picked up in the Void Abyss.
Syr held his gaze for a beat longer—then dissolved like smoke in a breeze, vanishing into the open wild.
Tsubaki swallowed hard, sweat breaking out.
"That pressure… Even facing Lady Hephaistos doesn't usually hit like that."
Ryuu's grip tightened on her bow, worry heavy in her eyes.
"Who else could it be but Freya herself? Emiya… your creditor is a nightmare."
Shirou pocketed the ring and hung it around his neck.
Freya was sending a message:
This game over his soul—she had never left the board.
"Let's go," Shirou said quietly. "We shouldn't keep our 'senior dragons' waiting too long."
A crushing pressure blanketed the land.
It wasn't gravity magic.
It was physical suppression created by the enormous life-force—Od—left behind by countless dragons, fused deeply into the earth's veins.
"This pressure…" Tsubaki muttered, knees trembling. "Even breathing is hard."
"Haruhime," Shirou said low.
"Yes! Shirou-sama! I understand!"
Haruhime raised her custom redwood staff. Her golden tail whipped violently in the gale.
Two brilliant, holy beams descended, wrapping Shirou and Tsubaki in light.
"Grow bigger—Uchide no Kozuchi!"
Level Boost!Lv.4 → Lv.5 (Pseudo)!
Mana surged through Shirou again—wild, roaring, renewed.
He stepped into the valley of bones.
Boom.
With that single step, the dragon remains—silent for a thousand years—seemed to awaken.
Mountain-like piles of scales began to grind and shriek like a thousand blades colliding.
From the deepest part of the valley, a vast blue silhouette rose—
A dragon, entirely skeletal, formed of bone and lingering will.
No flesh.
No blood.
Yet it radiated dragon might so immense a normal high-level adventurer would suffocate instantly.
A dominance the Dungeon itself had never produced.
The Bone Dragon's spirit released a roar that cracked the earth.
Then a torrent of blue dragonfire erupted into a tidal inferno, sealing the valley entrance in a single sweep.
The temperature soared so high the rock beneath their feet began to crystallize.
Shirou stepped forward, placing himself in front of the others.
His translucent right hand snapped outward.
Gold particles stormed together like a swarm answering a king.
"A true-name divine weapon?" he shouted, eyes burning.
"Fine—before that…"
"I'll use your bones as the foundation to reinforce my Unlimited Blade Works!"
"Synchronization—begin!"
Hummm—!
Dozens of massive draconic-concept magic swords projected into the air at once, their tips aligning with eerie precision as they locked onto the Bone Dragon overhead.
The battle detonated instantly.
This time, Emiya Shirou was not running for survival.
Here—in a domain of death and honor—he would strike iron with blood and fire, and hammer out the first clear bell-note on the road to his own summit.
In the cold wind of Dragon Valley, the red-haired boy's silhouette stretched long in the firelight—
Lonely.
And unyielding.
The prologue to reconstructing a True Name had begun—carved into the ancient roar of dragons.
And in the parts of Orario that light could never reach—
A black-robed figure stood beside a crack that led into the abyss, staring at a red mana crystal pulsing in his hand.
A rasping laugh crawled out of his throat.
"Go on… search for your destiny, Emiya Shirou."
"Go seek your so-called True Name."
"On those ancient corpses, you'll learn the truth."
"The justice you chase…"
"…is only the cruelest lie this world ever told."
"And we…"
"At the end of the Great Struggle…"
"Will prepare for you…"
"…a truly magnificent funeral."
Darkness writhed in the deep.
And the gears of fate began to spin faster—violently—toward a direction no one could predict.
....
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