Orario — Mid Levels of Babel Tower, Headquarters of the Hephaestus Familia.
This was the hottest place in the entire city. The air was permanently saturated with the dry, scorching stench of charcoal and metal. To ordinary smiths, it was holy ground.
To the "audience" gathered here today, it was a stage where history was about to be forged.
"Hey, Hephaestus—are you sure that furnace is hot enough?" Loki sat cross-legged on a hastily dragged-in tall chair, licking a popsicle while pointing like she owned the place. "My kid's forging dragon bone, you know? Don't let it end up half-cooked like some lousy 'dragon bone soup' because your fire wasn't strong enough."
"Shut it, Loki."
Hephaestus—the red-haired smith goddess with an eyepatch—stood with arms folded before a massive furnace. Her expression was so serious it bordered on grim, even more focused than when she'd forged Hestia's Knife.
"This is my personal Primeval Furnace," she said flatly. "It can melt orichalcum in three seconds. If this can't handle his materials, then nowhere in Orario can."
Hephaestus's gaze shifted.
In front of the furnace, Emiya Shirou stood bare-chested, perfectly still.
His right arm—once half-transparent, now fully embodied and shining white-gold—radiated heat in rhythm with his breathing, the kind of heat that made the skin prickle with instinctive fear.
Before him hovered the essence he'd brought back from Dragon Valley: the Ancient Dragon Remains—a liquid metal mass that continued to pulse like a living heart. Each beat warped the surrounding space by a hair's breadth.
"This is… the material." Tsubaki gripped a spare black iron hammer at the side, sweat beading on her forehead. "Just standing near it makes my blood feel like it's boiling. Emiya-kid… you really plan to do this alone?"
"Yeah." Shirou nodded, calm as if discussing dinner. "This is my blade. It has to be me who gives it a shape—and a meaning."
He turned slightly toward the corner, where Ais, Ryuu, and Haruhime watched with eyes full of anxiety… and trust.
"Relax," Shirou said, smiling bright. "I'm the man who's going to turn 'infinite' into 'one and only.'"
The forging began.
"Trace—On."
The moment he spoke, his magic circuits opened completely.
This time, he didn't project a hammer.
Because his right hand was the best hammer there was.
A low hum filled the workshop.
Shirou thrust his right hand straight into the hovering dragon essence.
There was no violent explosion. No screaming, no backlash.
The berserk, arrogant dragon marrow… became docile the instant it touched him.
Because it recognized something of the same lineage.
"Confirm the principle of creation," Shirou murmured, closing his eyes.
In his mind rose that red wasteland again—endless blades stabbed into the earth like grave markers.
Every one of them a counterfeit.
Every one of them a leftover echo of someone else's history.
"I used to think that if I kept imitating… I'd eventually reach the end."
"But…"
"Real strength isn't copying someone else's glory."
"It's—"
Shirou's eyes snapped open.
Gold fire burned in amber pupils.
"Creating your own karma."
"RAAAH!"
His right hand clenched.
The dragon essence was forcibly compressed, stretched, folded.
This wasn't hammering steel.
This was shaping an existence.
He poured everything into it—his mana, his will, and every piece of life he'd lived in this world: meeting Ais, bonding with the Xenos, bargaining with gods, bleeding in the depths, laughing in kitchens.
"Not enough!" Hephaestus barked suddenly, sharp and urgent. "Dragon bone's power is too strong! Raw mana can't lock its form! It's rejecting the very concept of being a 'sword'!"
She was right.
It was dragon pride.
It refused to become a tool swung by another.
It fought back, trying to return to what it once was—an apex beast that ruled the sky.
"If you don't want to be a sword…" Shirou's mouth curved into something dangerously bright.
"Then become—the fang that severs everything."
He pulled out two things.
A fragment of Orion's Arrow—
And the remains of the weapon that had followed him the longest: the broken shards of Kanshou and Bakuya.
"Fusion."
He fused a goddess's love—no matter how one-sided, no matter how toxic—with his own origin.
He used "protection" to suppress "destruction," forced incompatible truths into a single spine.
The furnace roared.
Its fire shifted—turning an eerie, soul-burning blue.
"Tsubaki!" Shirou shouted. "Lend me your fire!"
"I've been waiting for that!" Tsubaki grinned like a madwoman and swung her massive hammer down onto the furnace's bellows port.
"BURN—UP—ALREADY!"
The flames exploded.
Under that extreme heat, the mixed substance—dragon marrow, divine fragments, and the core of Unlimited Blade Works—finally stabilized.
It lengthened.
It sharpened.
It stopped trying to revert into a beast.
It was no longer a knight's longsword.
No longer an eastern saber.
Its silhouette took on the cruel, clean line of something born to cut fate itself—
A katana.
"Even if I'm a half-baked Archer…" Shirou watched the forming blade with a softness that didn't belong on a battlefield. "In the end…"
"This suits me best."
He drew his right arm back.
That white-gold arm was now red-hot, as if he'd pulled it straight out of magma.
Hand as hammer, he swung down with everything he was.
"Tsumukari…"
CLANG.
A clear ring—so sharp it felt like it passed straight through the soul.
The entire workshop shook.
Even Babel Tower trembled, just slightly.
When the light faded, a dark-red katana floated in midair, its edge laced with flame-like patterns.
It had no scabbard.
Because it had no reason to hide its edge.
True Divine Armament: Tsumukari MuramasaType: Growth-Class Artifact (Unknown Rank)Materials: Ancient Dragon Remains + Lunar Fragment + UBW Core
Traits:
Fate Severance: Cuts mana flow, barriers, and even the concept of causality.
Divinity Slayer: Catastrophic effectiveness against targets bearing divinity.
Infinite Amplification: Serves as the "Flagship" of Unlimited Blade Works, enhancing all projected armaments.
"…Beautiful." Even Hephaestus, a forging goddess, looked stunned. "That isn't a god-forged weapon…"
"That's a thing forged by a human to surpass gods."
"Success…" Shirou wrapped his fingers around the hilt.
The sensation was unmistakable—like grasping a missing half of himself.
"This is…" he whispered.
"My blade."
"Amiya—" Ais surged forward, staring at him, smoke rising from his skin, yet his eyes brighter than ever.
"Are you… okay?"
"Yeah." Shirou exhaled, and the katana dissolved into light, sinking into his right hand like it belonged there.
"Prep work's done."
"Next…"
"I'm going to collect my paycheck."
Two hours later — Twilight Manor.
An "upgrade ceremony" for Emiya Shirou was underway.
This time, it wasn't just internal.
Even the Guild's chief god, Uranus, had sent an envoy—a black-robed figure who clearly had no interest in showing his face—signaling just how much attention this "out-of-spec" newcomer had attracted.
"…All right." Loki inhaled, trying to steady herself. Even with all her bravado, the moment she saw the sacred text blazing behind Shirou, her hand still trembled.
"Rank Up!"
A golden radiance erupted.
It punched through the roof like a spear, shot into the sky, and made the entire city shiver with the pressure of its mana wave.
[Level Up Successful]Level: Lv.4 → Lv.5
[Final Lv.4 Stats]Strength: SSS (1500)Endurance: SSS (1600)Dexterity: SSS (1400)Agility: SSS (1450)Magic: SSS (1999) — [Limit Break]
[Development Abilities]A. Mage (G → E)B. Smithing (G → SSS) — [God Smith]C. Mystery (I → D)D. Swordmaster (New at Lv.5: greatly improves damage and "judgment" with swords)
"Lv.5…" Finn stared at the parchment, silent for a long time. "Two months… no. Even counting that 'black period' he never explains, it's only been three."
"Three months from Lv.1 to Lv.5."
"That's not a legend."
"That's myth."
"And…" Riveria's finger rested on one number as her voice thinned. "Magic: 1999."
"That means his mana capacity has reached the absolute limit for lower-world life."
"One step more…"
"…and it becomes divine territory."
"Monster," Bete muttered, delivering the most honest evaluation in the room. "This kid is a monster."
"All right, all right—stop praising me," Shirou said as he pulled his shirt back on. "If you keep going, I'm going to start floating."
He was smiling anyway.
Lv.5 was a watershed.
At this level, he finally had the foundation to stand face-to-face with first-class adventurers without relying on "mutual destruction" as his only answer.
"Shirou." Ais stepped in front of him.
She lifted her hand and gently touched his cheek.
"You got stronger."
"Faster than me."
"Not even close." Shirou covered her hand with his, warm and steady. "I just… ran a little ahead."
"And besides—if you weren't waiting out in front…"
"I might've stopped halfway."
Ais nodded, cheeks coloring with a faint, honest blush.
"Then…"
"We'll wait for you at the sixtieth floor."
"Together…"
"…we go to the deepest place."
"Of course."
Then, as Twilight Manor was still wrapped in that rare atmosphere of celebration, a letter arrived.
Not delivered by Ottar this time.
But by Syr.
"Congratulations on leveling up, Mr. Emiya." Syr stood at the doorway holding a delicate basket, her smile sweet as ever. "This is a celebration cake I made…"
"Don't worry. This time I didn't put anything weird in it."
"…Probably."
"Thanks." Shirou took the basket without refusing.
Because he could feel it.
The divinity on her was getting harder and harder to suppress.
"The letter?" Shirou asked.
Syr reached into her clothes and produced a golden card.
"The goddess says…"
"Tomorrow at noon."
"War Game Field."
"Final decisive battle."
"Win, and you take all the glory."
"Lose, and you surrender all your future."
"This is her final notice."
Shirou read the single line stamped on the card:
Come, my beloved.
He went quiet for a moment.
Then, in front of Syr, he crushed the card into a tight ball.
"Tell her," Shirou said, lifting his eyes—sharp as a drawn blade.
"I'll go."
"But not as anyone's 'beloved.'"
"As a challenger."
"I'll cut apart every one of her delusions."
"Ehehe…" Syr laughed.
That laugh carried anticipation, madness—
And a trace of relief.
"Good."
"I'm looking forward to it, too."
She turned and left.
And for the briefest instant, as she moved, Shirou thought he saw silver wings flash behind her—
Gone like an illusion.
"…So it's finally here," Shirou murmured, staring at the crushed gold card in his hand.
The decisive battle was tomorrow.
That night, Twilight Manor held no victory feast.
Because everyone knew the fight tomorrow was the real line between life and death.
Shirou sat alone on the roof, wiping down Tsumukari Muramasa—though in its resting state it was invisible, only manifesting fully in combat.
"Shirou."
A green figure landed beside him.
Ryuu Lion.
"Ryuu? Still awake?"
"I can't sleep." Ryuu sat next to him and looked up at the moon. "Tomorrow…"
"You're facing Ottar."
"Yeah."
"Do you have confidence?" Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath it.
"Honestly… fifty-fifty." Shirou smiled. "That boar-man is the pinnacle of Lv.7. Even if I'm Lv.5 now, there's still a gap in raw power."
"But—" His grip tightened around the hilt.
"I have to win."
"For Ais?" Ryuu asked, and a faint sourness slipped into her tone before she could stop it.
"Not just for Ais." Shirou turned to her, meeting her clear eyes. "For everyone."
"To prove that human possibility isn't something gods get to rearrange at will."
Ryuu stared at him.
The boy who had once pulled her back from her deepest despair had grown into a hero who could stand alone.
"Shirou," Ryuu said suddenly, leaning closer.
"Yeah?"
"If…" Her voice shook. "If you win…"
"Can you… grant me a wish?"
"A wish?" Shirou blinked. "What wish?"
"Not now." Her face flushed red, vivid and helpless. "When you win—when you come back alive…"
"I'll tell you."
And then she fled the roof like a startled rabbit.
"…A wish, huh." Shirou rubbed his nose.
That felt like raising a dangerously large flag.
But…
It didn't feel bad.
"All right." Shirou stood, stretching toward the moon.
"Sleep."
"Tomorrow's a big day."
Next day, noon — Plaza before Babel Tower.
A sea of people.
Adventurers, gods, even Guild staff poured out into the open, because today was the final clash of the Great War Game.
Loki Familia vs. Freya Familia.Senji Muramasa vs. the Mighty Ottar.
"Finally." Freya stood at the top of Babel Tower, looking down at the crowd, eyes burning with feverish light.
Below, in the plaza's center, the two forces faced each other.
On the left: Loki Familia, fully armed—Finn, Riveria, Gareth, Ais, Bete, Tiona, Tione… a lineup of monsters in their own right.
At the very front stood the red-haired youth.
Lv.5 — Emiya Shirou.
On the right: Freya Familia, pressure like a storm—Hedin, Hogni, Allen, the Gulliver brothers… all elite.
At the very front stood the mountain no one could step over.
Lv.7 — Ottar.
"Emiya Shirou." Ottar spoke, voice like distant thunder. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah." Shirou drew his katana.
The blade itself couldn't be seen—
But the sword intent alone sliced the air, turning the space around him razor-sharp.
"Any time."
"Good." Ottar nodded.
He drew a brand-new black greatsword from his back—crafted by Hephaestus herself.
"Then…"
"Come and kill me."
The moment their auras collided—
BOOM.
Orario's greatest battle roared to life.
....
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