Three kilometers from the canyon exit leading to the royal capital—about three kilometers from the Wall of Sighs that had been carved open—
"Ugh… I feel hollowed out. Like, truly hollowed out."
Shirou Emiya lay sprawled across Ona's broad back like a salted fish that had lost the will to live. Not that he didn't appreciate the "amazon carry service"—he simply didn't have the strength left to appreciate anything.
His right arm was still charred black. Fina's healing magic had stopped the bleeding, but the numbness remained, like the nerves had died and forgotten to file the paperwork. His status, if you translated it into gamer terms:
Mana: 0 / 1999
Stamina: 5 / 1000
Combat power: approximately "will be mistaken for roadside loot by wild mobs"
"Hey, redhead. You still alive?" Ona complained, though the arm supporting Shirou's legs was steady—and she'd slowed her pace to reduce the jostling. "Don't die on my back. Bad luck. If you die, who's making dinner? I covered for you so hard my axe got rolled edges!"
"…Relax," Shirou rasped. "I won't die. As long as I've got one breath left… I can crawl into a kitchen."
Ona clicked her tongue. "You don't have 'chef pride.' You've got a mental illness."
Walking beside them, Crozzo carried his massive anvil like a penitent monk and muttered, "I'm with her on this one. But, Shirou… that earlier strike. Was that really something a human can do? You cut space open."
"The principle is simple," Shirou answered weakly. "Force solves most problems."
Crozzo looked like he wanted to ask a thousand questions and simultaneously collapse.
"All right. Enough chatter." Fina returned from scouting ahead, face tense. "The situation's bad. The barrier is broken, but the Black King's forces didn't scatter. They're massing at the capital's gate and preparing to hold. And…" She glanced at the massive tear still lingering in the sky and earth. "Because of that red light's disturbance, the entire city is at maximum alert. The walls are packed with archers and mages. Not even a fly is getting through."
Argo squatted and clutched his head, despair incarnate. "So this is what they mean by 'showing off feels great… until you're cremated in the aftermath'?! We're doomed! How do we get in? If we charge, we'll be pincushions! I don't want to die! I haven't finished my heroic saga! I haven't even held the princess's hand!"
"And whose fault is your 'high-profile' addiction?" Ona kicked his backside. "Main DPS is down, and if you—the so-called leader—are useless too, then we really will die here."
"What do you want from me?!" Argo whined, rubbing his butt. "I can't fire light cannons. I can't transform. I'm just a… a… clown."
On Ona's back, Shirou's eyes cracked open.
His body couldn't move, but his brain still worked. He stared at Argo's ridiculous outfit—then at their mismatched team.
A plan formed in his mind.
A bold plan.
A completely deranged plan.
"Argo," Shirou said, voice faint.
"Yes! Shirou-bro—do you have any last words?" Argo gasped.
"Not last words," Shirou snapped. "A tactic."
He inhaled carefully. "If we can't force our way in… we walk in."
"…Huh?" Everyone froze.
Shirou's lips curled into something that was half a smile, half a threat. "You said you're a clown, right? Then we'll build… a circus."
"A CIRCUS?!"Four jaws hit the floor at once.
"Stop! Identify yourselves!" The guard captain tightened his grip on his spear, eyes wary. "The city is under lockdown! Any suspicious persons will be executed on sight!"
To be fair, the group looked like a crime against art.
A huge "parade float"—a wagon patched together with boards and vines (repurposed from an abandoned siege cart by Crozzo)—rolled toward the gate. It was decorated with colorful flags and strings of unknown monster skulls as "festive ornaments."
And at the front—
A clown in red-and-white stripes, face painted in absurd colors, walked in on stilts (freshly carved), juggling five bright balls.
"Ahhh, honorable soldiers! No need to be nervous!" Argo—now calling himself 'The Despairing Clown, Baki' for reasons nobody consented to—sang out in theatrical cadence. "We are not suspicious! We are the traveling troupe from the Far East—The Great Argonaut Circus! We've come to celebrate His Majesty the Black King's birthday! (Is it today? Who knows! But birthdays are a concept! ) And we bring a splendid performance!"
"A circus…?" The captain blinked, unconvinced. In a war-torn era like this, a circus traveling around was insane.
"Indeed!" Argo hopped off his stilts—nearly faceplanting, then masking it with a "comedic tumble." He gestured grandly at the team and began introducing them with a straight face.
"Behold! Our signature strongwoman—'Ona the Muscle Titan!'"
Ona, dressed in her usual minimal beast-hide outfit, casually lifted a massive boulder—which was, in fact, hollow stage-prop stone. Shirou had taught her "how to cheat for better audience engagement."
She flashed the guards a "smile" that translated to: Doubt me and I'll make you a modern art installation.
"And this is our magician—'Crozzo the Fire Alchemist!'"
Crozzo wore a black robe and held two "burning wands" (failed magic-sword scraps), releasing controlled bursts of flame. His face stayed deadpan, but inside he was weeping. My life's work… reduced to party tricks.
"And finally—our seer—'Fina of the Forest, the Prophet!'"
Fina wrapped herself in a mysterious cloak, cradling a "crystal ball" (plain glass), eyes distant and haunting.
"I see…" she intoned. "Your captain… wet his bed last night."
The guard captain went pale. "H-How did you know?!"
(Shirou's "Heart's Eye" had noticed suspicious stains on the captain's trousers. It was probably spilled liquor, but intimidation didn't require accuracy—only confidence.)
"And…" Argo pointed dramatically at the float, where a figure lay on a cushioned couch, a white cloth draped over his face. "Our owner and true master—'The Sleeping Prince, Emiya!' He suffers from a terrible curse: if he doesn't hear applause, he will die! Thus we travel the world, performing to awaken him!"
On the float, Shirou's mouth twitched violently under the cloth.
Sleeping Prince?This script was worse than third-rate pulp fiction. But he was currently a decorative prop, so he had no voting rights.
The captain looked shaken. Suspicious? Absolutely. But the troupe was bizarrely skilled—and that "seer" was unsettling.
"But… the King ordered a full lockdown…"
"Ah, captain," Argo whispered, slipping him a coin—their last real money. "We just want food. And if we make His Majesty laugh, perhaps you'll be rewarded too. After that terrifying red light earlier… people need entertainment to steady their hearts, no?"
The captain weighed the coin, then glanced back at the tense city.
"…Fine." He waved them through. "Go in. But cause trouble and I'll cut your heads off and play soccer with them."
"Many thanks!" Argo bowed and flashed the team a triumphant V-sign.
"This," he whispered, "is Heroic Bluff—MAX LEVEL!"
The moment they passed the gate, the mood dropped.
The "capital" looked less like a thriving city and more like a massive military camp. Patrols everywhere. Shuttered shops. Starving citizens. Eyes hollow with fear.
At the center stood a towering black fortress—the Black Iron Palace—radiating oppressive magical pressure.
"So this is the Black King's rule…" Ona lowered the prop boulder, expression icy. "Makes me want to drag that throne-sitter down and smash him."
"Don't." Shirou's voice drifted from the float. "Our goal is to infiltrate the palace and find the imprisoned princess. A frontal clash is suicide."
"Then what?" Fina asked quietly. "We're not actually going to perform, are we?"
"Of course not." Under the cloth, Shirou's "Heart's Eye" tracked the mana flow in the city like a map. "We need a trigger. A chance to get close to the palace—and create chaos."
"A trigger…?" Argo scratched his head. "Where do we—"
A giant notice board caught their eyes.
PUBLIC DECREETonight, His Majesty the Black King Eld will hold the Grand Sacrificial Rite at the palace square.The captured 'Otherworldly Maiden' will be offered to the labyrinth's guardian god (the Minotaur).All citizens must attend. Absence is punishable by death.
The team stared at one another.
This was the trigger.
The square was packed. Bonfires painted the sky orange. Hundreds of black-armored knights sealed the perimeter.
On a high platform, the Black King Eld lounged on his throne, wine in hand, smiling like a man enjoying a slow execution.
Opposite him, inside an iron cage, stood a blonde girl in a white dress. Pale, exhausted—yet her golden eyes burned with defiance.
Ariadne.The princess of this era—and the "key" in whatever ritual was being planned.
Beside the cage, a mountain of a creature lay breathing: the Primitive Minotaur.
No chains. No restraints. It didn't need them. Every exhale produced visible white steam.
"It's huge…" Argo swallowed. "That thing… it's stronger than anything we've faced."
"Level six… no—approaching seven." Ona tightened her grip on her axe. "And it's armored. I'm not sure my blade even bites."
"Don't panic." Shirou's voice entered their minds via Fina's wind-based transmission spell. "Follow the plan. Argo draws attention. Ona and Crozzo create chaos. Fina supports and clears paths. And I…"
Shirou glanced at his ruined right arm.
After half a day's rest, he still couldn't fight. But he could manage one projection.
One would be enough.
"Move!" Shirou ordered.
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!" A ridiculous voice shattered the solemn ritual.
Argo—on stilts again—burst from the crowd and sprinted toward the platform.
"Assassin!" Knights drew blades instantly.
"Wait." The Black King lifted a hand, amused. "Let him come. The waiting is boring."
"Blessings upon Your Majesty!" Argo executed an exaggerated bow and rolled at the base of the platform. "I am the Great Argonaut Circus's leader! Hearing of your holy rite, we came to present a performance—'Dragon Slaying!'"
"Dragon slaying?" Eld snorted. "With you?"
"Not me!" Argo pointed behind him. "Our troupe's… monsters!"
Boom—boom—boom!
Explosions flared at the square's edge. Crozzo triggered smoke bombs and flash charges. Multicolored smoke flooded the plaza.
"Protect the King!" Knights erupted into confusion.
"Now!" Ona burst from the smoke like a predator, charging straight for the cage.
"Open!" Her axe slammed into the cage's chain lock—
CLANG!Sparks flew.
The lock didn't break.
Ona's eyes widened. "O-ori… something-grade chain?!" (In plain terms: absurdly tough.)
"ROAR!"
The Minotaur woke.
It rose, its shadow swallowing Ona.
"MOVE!" Shirou's voice snapped.
Ona reflexively leapt back—A hoof the size of a cart smashed where she'd stood, the ground cratering.
Eld roared, furious. "Catch them! Feed these clowns to the Minotaur!"
Knights closed in. Smoke, steel, stampeding terror.
The trap had sprung.
Argo hid behind a pillar, shaking. "Isn't this a little too exciting?! Director! Can we get a cheat item?!"
No cheat item.
But there was a different kind of "external support."
A low voice cut through the chaos.
"Trace…"
Everyone looked up.
On the clock tower's roof at the square's edge, Shirou stood—pale, half-dead, right arm hanging uselessly.
He raised his left hand.
In it appeared a jagged, lightning-like dagger.
Rule Breaker.
Medea's Noble Phantasm. Not an offensive weapon—but a bug-level tool with a single function:
Forcibly sever magical contracts and bindings.
That cage wasn't just physical. It was sealed with high-tier enchantment. You couldn't smash it open with force.
You had to break it at the concept level.
Shirou's far-sight locked onto the latch.
Wind. Distance. Angle. Gravity.
Calculated.
This wasn't for killing.
It was for freeing.
"Project—Throw."
The purple dagger became a streak of light, slicing through smoke, through knights, through the Minotaur's reach—
And struck the latch.
Tink.
A crisp sound.
The enchanted chains dissolved into light.
The cage door sprang open.
"Yes!" Fina cried, wind magic surging. A soft gust lifted Ariadne up and away.
"Catch her!" Ona jumped, wrapping the princess in a protective hold. "Withdraw!"
"You think you can escape?!" Eld raised his staff—
A figure stepped into his line of sight.
Argo.
The trembling clown pointed his crackling wooden sword at the king, voice shaking but loud.
"Hey! Black-faced uncle!" Argo yelled. "Your opponent… is ME! Argo, leader of the Hero Band! Future champion!"
Eld's hand flicked—an effortless fireball.
"AAAAH!" Argo sprinted for his life.
But the fireball missed its true target.
Ona and the princess remained airborne and safe.
"Good job, clown," Shirou smiled faintly from the tower. "You're actually useful when it matters."
But the real danger hadn't even started.
The Minotaur turned.
Its prey had escaped.
It didn't chase Ona.
Instead, it fixed its blood-red eyes on the one who had broken the cage.
Shirou.
It bent down, grabbed a massive chunk of stone, and hurled it like a siege projectile at the clock tower.
BOOM!
The tower collapsed.
"SHIROU!" Fina screamed.
Dust roared across the square—
Then a red-haired figure dropped through the debris.
Shirou had used reinforcement on his cloak to slow the fall.
He landed—
Directly at the Minotaur's feet.
"…So," Shirou coughed, staring up at the mountain of muscle and horns, "this is where the script finally goes off the rails."
Mana: 0.Stamina: 0.Right arm: destroyed.Distance to death: 0 meters.
A dead end?
No.
Shirou's eyes sharpened with a dangerous glint.
At this distance… there was something else he could do.
He placed his left hand on the Minotaur's leg.
"Trace—"
Not to project a weapon.
To synchronize.
To read its structure.
To find the weak point—
And—
A golden light ignited at the edge of the night.
So bright it drowned the Minotaur's presence.
"What…?" People turned.
On the city wall stood a blonde figure in white, a slender sacred blade in hand. Small, but her aura cut like winter.
Ariadne's future self?
No—
The Sword Princess.
Ais Wallenstein.
Shirou froze.
This was the mythic age.
Ais shouldn't exist yet.
Unless—
A horrifying thought hit him like a hammer.
The princess they'd just rescued…
Was she Ais's ancestor? Her past life?
The blonde girl on the wall spoke, voice cool and steady, threaded with something that shouldn't have been possible across time.
"Shirou."
"I came… to get you."
A golden sword-wave tore across the square.
The Minotaur was forced back—one step.
Myth and reality overlapped.
Past and future touched.
And the farce called "Heroic Tale" finally unveiled its true heroine.
....
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