It happened in the narrowest gap between tragedy and comedy:
Right when Argo loosened his fingers—ready to perform a noble sacrifice.Right when Shirou's eyes welled—one heartbeat from snapping.
A golden streak screamed across the gorge.
A spear.
Not a normal spear—an absurdly long one, its tip shining with the kind of "must-hit" radiance that felt like fate itself had been sharpened into metal.
THUNK!
It didn't skewer Argo.
Instead, it threaded cleanly through the waistband of his loose clown trousers—then, with brutal momentum, pinned him like a specimen to the trunk of a crooked tree growing from the cliff face.
Argo dangled there, kicking like a salted fish on a line.
"AAAAAH—MY WAIST! MY KIDNEYS! I ALMOST BECAME KEBAB CLOWN!!"He screamed so hard the echo probably filed a complaint.
"WHO DID THIS?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW SERIOUS THE MOOD WAS?! I HAD MY LAST WORDS READY IN MY HEAD!!"
On the ledge above, everyone froze.
Shirou—tears still hanging in his lashes—stared blankly at the swinging clown.Fina and Ona stopped mid-panic.Even the Minotaur, which had been gearing up for a victory roar, paused and released an awkward puff of steam like it had just walked into the wrong play.
Shirou's emotion jammed in his throat.
…Where did the tragedy go?Where did the heroic music go?Why was fate suddenly written by a gag manga?
"Shut up, idiot."
A crisp, icy girl's voice came from the opposite cliff—sharp enough to slice the lingering sentiment in half.
Everyone looked up.
On the far ledge stood a small formation of armored riders. At their head was a petite Pallum girl with golden hair and sea-green eyes, wearing polished silver plate and a red cape that snapped in the wind.
Her thumb rested against her lips.
That habit—That calculating, irritated gaze—
Shirou's pupils contracted.
That's… F—
If she were male, she'd be a near-perfect copy of a certain future captain.
"…If you want to die," the Pallum girl said coolly, "do it quietly where no one has to watch. Don't block a road like this. You're in the way."
She hopped down—light as a bird—and landed on what remained of the bridge's stone buttress. Her squad followed:a tall elf with emerald hair and a staff, and a broad human youth carrying a shield that looked like it could stop a boulder.
The Pallum girl yanked the spear free—Argo dropped and landed on his backside with a squeak.
"Ow! My butt!!"He looked up, instantly shrinking. "Uh… thank you, noble lady…?"
"Mm." She spun the spear and leveled it at the Minotaur, tone bored.
"Do monsters have no manners these days? Seeing the banner of the Knights of Fianna and still not running?"
"Fianna?!" Fina the half-elf gasped. "The legendary… high and noble knight order?!"
The Minotaur, unfortunately, didn't read legends.
It only understood food.
ROAR!!
It charged.
The Pallum girl didn't retreat.
She simply shifted her weight and became lightning.
"Tír na nÓg — Flash Thrust."
Gold cut the air.
In one breath:the Minotaur's palm was pierced, and its knee blossomed with three neat holes—so fast the wounds appeared before the motion made sense.
Shirou's jaw dropped.
If Finn's fighting was precision built from cold calculation—this girl's spearwork was a wild instinct that still somehow hit perfectly.
"Helga. Lazar."Fianna's tone was pure command. "Move."
The human shield-bearer slammed forward and clipped the Minotaur's toes—no damage worth speaking of, but the provocation was immediate and flawless.
The emerald-haired elf lifted her staff and chanted at an obscene speed.
"Wind—tear it apart."
Blades of air and golden spear-lines interwove.
The Minotaur actually staggered, pushed back by a three-person unit that moved like they'd been hunting monsters since birth.
Shirou snapped out of his shock.
"Don't let them take all the spotlight!" he hissed, then raised the crackling wooden sword in his left hand—even drained, it was still a club.
"Ona! Crozzo! We're in!"
Ona grinned like a predator and vaulted down with her axe.
And just like that—the "final stand" became a boss-steal contest.
Left side: Argo's Hero Troupe (the circus).Right side: Fianna's Knights (the professionals).
Shirou targeted open wounds like a surgeon with bad manners.
Fianna's spear cut off his lines on purpose.
"Hey, redhead!" she snapped mid-thrust. "Stop getting in the way. It's our prey!"
Ona shoved in with brute force. "We were here first! This meat's mine!"
Helga's wind spell slammed the Minotaur—and clipped Ona with the edge as collateral.
Fina the archer exploded. "HEY! GREEN-HAIR! YOU HIT FRIENDLIES?!"
Helga's eyes stayed glacial. "Who said we're friends? You're a rabble."
The Minotaur, caught in the middle, was so offended it roared like it wanted to file a formal complaint.
In the end, a simultaneous strike—Shirou's opportunistic hit and Fianna's killing thrust—dropped it.
It collapsed into dark smoke, leaving behind a large magic stone.
"Mine!" Ona and Lazar lunged at the same time—
THUD.
A small boot pinned the magic stone.
Fianna stared down at everyone like a judge at a noisy market stall.
"Our spoils," she declared. "Any objections?"
Argo popped up, face still swollen, courage fueled entirely by spite.
"YES! That was Shirou-bro's kill! You were just—just—late support!"
Fianna's gaze slid to him.
"…You." Her tone sharpened. "The clown who screamed for help while hanging off the monster's back has the nerve to speak?"
Argo choked.
Then pointed at Shirou like a lawyer presenting evidence."I don't, but HE does! He's my vice-captain!"
Fianna's eyes examined Shirou from head to toe, pausing on his empty sleeve.
"Strange mana… not of this era."A beat."And you're missing an arm. A cripple?"
Shirou straightened, unflinching. "So what? Even crippled, I cook better than you."
Fianna blinked—genuinely startled—then clicked her tongue.
She kicked the magic stone back to Lazar.
"Take it. Payment for saving you idiots."Her mouth said "payment," but her eyes said "don't make me admit anything else."
Ona bristled, but Shirou raised a hand.
"Let it go," he murmured. "We don't have energy for a second war."
Fianna turned to leave, then paused.
"Redhead."She spoke his name like she was testing it.
"Shirou Emiya."
He stiffened.
Fianna's lips curved into a faint, inconvenient smile.
"If you don't want to die in the forest ahead… follow behind us."Her eyes flicked to the dark trees."This region doesn't have only one Minotaur."
Then the Knights of Fianna moved out—clean, disciplined, irritating.
Argo swallowed. "That tiny blonde… is scarier than the Black King."
Shirou packed up the gear and exhaled.
"We follow," he decided. "Free vanguard is still vanguard."
And… he couldn't deny it.
During the fight, Fianna had been harsh—yet she'd also intercepted several blows that would've crushed them.
Classic.
A proud idiot who'd rather die than say she helped.
Shirou knew that type far too well.
They camped with a strict separation:Argo's troupe on one side, Fianna's knights on the other.
Cold war neighbors.
Ona groaned, clutching her stomach. "Hungry. I burned a year's worth of calories today."
Shirou checked the bag. "No meat left. Flour and wild greens."
Ona looked betrayed by reality.
"Quit whining," Shirou said, already mixing dough. "We're doing vegetable pancakes."
He cooked fast—clean movements, hot stone pan, oil, chopped greens, flour batter. The scent drifted into the trees like a magic spell.
Argo's eyes went glassy with joy.
On the other side, Fianna's unit gnawed on black bread hard enough to qualify as weaponry.
Lazar's nose twitched. "Captain… that smells like civilization…"
Fianna maintained a dead expression and bit her bread.
Helga's elf ears betrayed her—tilting toward the aroma.
Then—
Grrrnnnng.
A loud stomach growl escaped Fianna.
Silence detonated.
Lazar and Helga immediately stared up at the sky.
"Ah. Stars are bright.""Moon is… round."
Fianna's face flushed so red it could've been used as a signal flare.
Shirou stepped onto the invisible boundary line, holding a plate.
"If you don't mind," he said gently, "I made extra. Waste is waste."
Fianna snapped. "Who wants your leftovers?! We—Fianna's knights—would rather starve than—"
Shirou sighed, turned as if to walk away.
"Then I'll feed it to squirrels. I was going to thank you for saving our lives, but—"
"WAIT!" Fianna shot up.
She marched over, snatched the plate like it was a battlefield objective.
"A-as a thank-you gift, it doesn't count as charity," she declared loudly. "This is a trade. Equal exchange."
She returned to her fire and—two seconds later—was eating like the world might end.
Shirou watched her small back and smiled.
So it was true.
No matter the era—no matter the gender—this bloodline was inevitably… a foodie.
At dawn, Fianna approached Shirou as he packed.
"Redhead chef."Her tone was stiff.
"Last night's pancakes… were acceptable."
Then she tossed him a sheet of parchment.
"A map. Ahead is an abandoned shrine—an ancient temple that once revered the Spirits. If your arm can be restored anywhere, it's there."
Shirou's eyes sharpened. A Spirit shrine meant concentrated elemental essence—exactly the kind of "high-grade mana" that could rebuild what he'd lost.
"Thanks," he said sincerely.
Fianna turned away too fast. "Don't misunderstand. I don't like owing debts."
Then her gaze hardened.
"The Black King didn't die. And he's called something worse."A pause."If you want to live, move quickly."
She left without looking back.
Argo leaned over the map, practically vibrating. "A Spirit shrine?! That's where the holy sword is sealed! It's fate! Chapter Two of my heroic saga! The chosen hero pulls the sacred blade—ME!"
Ona rolled her eyes. "You'll pull a radish, clown."
Shirou flexed his left hand, stared at his empty sleeve, then at the shrine's mark.
A holy sword or not—a shrine was a tool.And right now, he needed every tool destiny had.
"Let's go," he said, shouldering his pack. "Target: Spirit Shrine."
And somewhere far away—
In the depths beneath the royal capital, the Black King knelt before a cracked altar, hatred dripping from his words as black mist swallowed him whole.
Something answered.
Something that wasn't a monster.
Something that reeked of pollution.
Shirou shivered as they marched.
"…We're being watched again," he muttered.
And this time, the gaze felt hungry.
....
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