The Mythic Age — the ancient forest road leading to the Spirit Shrine.
Morning mist still clung to the treetops when the "hero expedition" set out again—an allied force in name only, stitched together so awkwardly it felt like two completely different stage plays were being forced to share one spotlight.
On the left marched the Knights of Fianna: crisp formation, polished gear, every footstep sharp enough to cut wind. At the front strode Fianna, the blonde Pallum commander in silver armor, red cape snapping behind her. Her face—uncannily reminiscent of a certain future captain—might as well have been engraved with the words I am elite. Behind her, the emerald-haired elf Helga and the shield-bearer Lazar radiated professional, battle-ready severity, like they were on their way to slay a demon king.
On the right…
Well.
The Argo Hero Troupe looked like a traveling disaster.
Argo, the self-proclaimed leader, rode a wild donkey he'd apparently "recruited" from the roadside. He hummed an off-key tune, holding a fishing pole with a carrot tied to it—to bait his own mount. The Amazon Ona trudged along with her giant axe on one shoulder, yawning, occasionally chewing jerky like this was a lazy picnic. The swordsmith Crozzo hauled his anvil with the expression of a man who'd lost a lifelong argument with fate. And Shirou Emiya, vice-captain and actual babysitter, carried half the supplies one-handed while continuously preventing the clown on the donkey from tumbling off and breaking his neck.
Shirou's soul screamed quietly.
This is humiliating. If Ais ever sees this in the future, my "hero of justice" brand is going to collapse into a QR code.
A sharp voice cut in.
"Hey. Red-haired cook."
Fianna stopped and turned, emerald eyes openly disgusted. "Can you make your clown shut up? That singing is blasphemy against the Spirit Forest. Even the birds ran away. If he attracts monsters, I'll throw him out as bait without hesitation."
"Sorry," Shirou sighed—then, with practiced ease, condensed a small lump of mana and stuffed it into Argo's mouth like a cork.
Argo's eyes bulged. "MMMPH?!"
He flailed his hands in outrage, but all that came out was muffled quacking.
Fianna's expression didn't soften in the slightest.
Helga sniffed, chin lifted in aristocratic contempt. "A rabble. I still don't understand why you're tolerating these burdens, Fianna. The red-haired one has some skill, but the others… they're on a leisure stroll. Especially that barbarian who only thinks about food."
Ona's head snapped around.
"The hell did you just call me?!"
She swallowed her jerky, slammed her axe into the earth hard enough to kick up dust, and pointed the blade at Helga. "You long-eared four-eyed—yeah, I know you're not wearing glasses, I'm saying it anyway—want me to tie you to a tree and use you for throwing-axe practice?!"
"Vulgar savage." Helga's staff glowed, wind elements tightening like a drawn bowstring.
"Wanna fight?!" Ona's muscles coiled—pure predator.
Shirou immediately wedged himself between them like a man defusing a bomb with a smile.
"Stop—stop—breakfast hasn't even settled yet. Violent exercise causes stomach drop."
He pulled out two honey-butter biscuits. "Here. Sweet food helps mood stabilization. Wild honey from yesterday—rich and smooth."
Helga turned her head away in offended dignity. "I won't eat an enemy's—"
Her nose twitched.
"…That's high-grade honey."
Ona, meanwhile, inhaled a biscuit in one bite. Her face instantly turned blissful, as if flowers had bloomed behind her.
"Good. You're smart. I'll let the long-ear live this time."
Lazar watched, stunned, then gave Shirou a solemn thumbs-up. "Impressive, Emiya. Calming those two at once? Your beast-taming skill must be maxed. Even our captain can't do that."
"Life does that to you," Shirou muttered. Compared to the chaos back at Twilight Manor in the far future, this was practically routine.
They were still bickering as they advanced when the forest ahead erupted with violent impact sounds—and the shriek of something large dying.
Fianna's eyes sharpened instantly. "Contact. Everyone on guard. High-density mana ahead. Not a normal beast."
Ona's grin flashed like a blade. "A fight? Finally."
She charged into the brush before anyone could stop her.
"Ona—wait—!" Shirou reached out with his only arm, but she was already gone.
They followed fast—and broke into a clearing.
A two-headed chimera lay butchered across the ground, carved into pieces with cuts so clean it looked like an exhibition of cruelty-as-art. The blade work was absurdly sharp and brutally efficient.
Two figures stood by the corpse.
One was a tall young man with gray wolf ears and a wolf tail, wearing light leather armor and rune-etched metal greaves. A nasty scar crossed his face, and his eyes were the kind that belonged to a lone wolf that had never learned the meaning of compromise.
Yuris.
Different name, same vibe—same aggressive pride, same "earn my respect" stink.
Shirou didn't need a genealogy chart to guess this was Bete Loga's ancestor.
The second was a woman with sun-kissed skin in a dancer's battle outfit—shockingly revealing, black hair tied high, wielding two curved blades. She was even more dangerously attractive than Ona—and the way she looked at Yuris carried a kind of feverish devotion that made the air feel a little colder.
Elmina. An Amazon queen candidate—clearly cut from the same cloth as a future Tione.
"More trash," Yuris clicked his tongue, shaking blood off his greaves without glancing at anyone. "Not even a warm-up." He shot Elmina a disgusted look. "Hey, crazy woman. Stop staring at me like that. It's revolting."
"Aww, Yuris~ so cold." Elmina swayed closer—physically closer—pressing in like she'd glued herself to his side. Her eyes shimmered, almost drunk with obsession. "That kick that exploded the chimera's skull was so handsome. I just want to… lock you up in a basement and make you look at me every day~"
"Get off!" Yuris shoved her away like she was a sticky parasite. "You freak! I'll kick you too—stay away!"
"Aww, hitting is love, scolding is affection~" Elmina smiled like being insulted was a gift.
From the trees, Shirou and the others stared with synchronized blank expressions.
Shirou covered his face. Why are the ancestors and descendants all psychologically identical? Is this a genetic curse? Are Amazons factory-calibrated for "dangerously affectionate"?
Yuris's ears flicked.
He snapped his head toward the brush. "You done watching? Come out, or I'll treat you like the chimera. I'm not done killing."
They were spotted.
Fianna stepped out openly, hand near her weapon, aura sharp and unwavering. "We're passing through. This forest isn't your property. Lose the attitude."
Yuris's eyes narrowed. "That badge… Knights of Fianna? Hah. The 'noble' hypocrites who steal credit. Heard you're experts at snatching other people's achievements."
Helga's staff flashed. Wind blades gathered at her fingertips. "You dare insult the honor of the knight order? Apologize. Or I'll show you what elven magic does to the arrogant."
"And what, exactly?" Yuris vanished—
—and reappeared in front of Helga in a blink, his greave inches from her face. "Your slow magic can't even catch my exhaust. In this land, speed is everything."
Shirou's breath hitched.
That speed wasn't quite the future level-six nightmare Bete would become—but for this era, for this tier, it was terrifyingly sharp.
Shirou's body moved on instinct.
He reached to project a shield—
Then stopped.
His right arm was still gone, his mana barely recovered. His left hand trembled with frustration.
But someone else moved first.
BOOM.
A massive shield slammed between them—Lazar.
He held the impact, arms trembling, feet planted. "Don't bully women, wolf. A knight's shield isn't decoration."
"Tch." Yuris hopped back into a tree, glaring down at them. "So it's numbers. Fun. Then I'll bite you all to death."
Elmina slid in front of him, blades raised like a jealous beast. "Yuris's prey is my prey. Touch him and I'll slice you into sashimi."
A melee was seconds away.
Then—
Grrrrrrrnnnng.
A thunderous stomach growl exploded from Yuris's gut, louder than the killing intent, echoing through the clearing.
Silence.
Yuris's face turned red at the speed of shame.
"W-what are you looking at?!" he snapped. "That was a battle cry! My organs are roaring!"
Argo—still muffled from Shirou's earlier "mana cork"—made a wheezing sound that was unmistakably laughter.
Yuris's killing aura surged. "You wanna die?!"
Shirou exhaled, stepped forward, and removed Argo's "silence."
Then he reached into the bag and pulled out a massive rice ball—seaweed wrapped, compact, dense, warm.
"If you don't mind," Shirou said, wearing that infamous "overly responsible caretaker" smile. "Eat something first. It's a special Emiya-style extra-large rice ball—cheese-stuffed, pork floss, and seasoned. Hungry people fight badly. Eat, then argue… I mean, battle."
Yuris stared at it like it was an insult.
"Hah? You think I'm a beggar? That peasant food—"
He raised a foot to kick it away.
But the aroma—rice, seaweed, meat, and that sinful melted core—slipped into his nose like a spell and tugged his stomach by the soul.
His gut betrayed him again.
Grrrrnnnng.
Elmina swallowed audibly. "Um… Yuris? It smells… really good. And if we don't eat, we won't have the strength to cut them into pieces…"
Yuris froze, then snatched the rice ball out of Shirou's hand with violent dignity.
"I'll take one bite," he growled. "If it's bad, I'll chew your—"
He bit.
His expression stopped.
The feral glare washed away into something dangerously pure.
Crisp seaweed. Soft rice. Then—cheese burst, savory pork floss, layers of flavor detonating like fireworks in his mouth.
His eyes went clear. Almost… holy.
Shirou smiled gently. "Good?"
"P-Passable!" Yuris barked, turning his head away while devouring the entire thing in seconds—including any stray rice grains stuck to his fingers. "More. I'm growing. This is for energy. Not because it's good!"
"We've got plenty," Shirou said calmly. "Ona. Crozzo. Set up the pot. Since we met new 'friends,' we're having a temporary picnic."
The forest, moments ago a battlefield, instantly became a spring outing.
Yuris lay on the grass, belly round, wearing the peaceful expression of a man who'd tasted salvation.
"Didn't think this era had food like that," he muttered. Then he looked at Shirou with complicated eyes. "What's your name?"
"Shirou Emiya."
Yuris grunted. "Fine. Emiya. You look flimsy and you're missing an arm… but your cooking?" He clicked his tongue as if that hurt to admit. "I acknowledge it. In this region, say 'Silver Wolf Yuris' and no one touches your pot. Anyone tries, I bite their throat out."
"That's my line," Ona protested, gnawing a bone. "Shirou's our cook. Don't you dare poach him. He's ours!"
"Hero troupe?" Yuris sneered at Argo, who was still dangling a carrot on a fishing pole to "steer" his donkey. "That clown? Don't make me laugh. 'Hero' isn't a word for any stray mutt. I could crush him with one finger."
"You don't get it!" Argo sprang up, waving his wooden sword. "Heroes are about the heart! And we're going to the Spirit Shrine to pull the holy sword! Once I get it, you'll be begging for my autograph!"
Yuris and Elmina exchanged a look.
"…You're going to that ruin too?" Elmina's smile curved, amused.
Fianna's hand went to her weapon. "You are?"
"Sort of." Yuris stood and dusted himself off. "There's a sword stuck in a stone. Only the chosen can pull it, they say. I don't care about rusty iron—but there's a guardian beast there. I'm hunting that. The sword can rot for all I care."
A guardian beast. Shirou's mind sharpened. Of course.
Treasure comes with a boss. Game law.
"Then let's travel together," Shirou said. "More people, more strength. And…" his eyes flicked to their empty packs, "…you clearly don't carry proper rations."
Yuris hesitated exactly three seconds—battling his pride, then losing to memory.
"Tch. Fine. Since you begged, I'll allow it," he said, tail betraying him with a tiny wag. "Don't expect me to protect you. If things go bad, I'm the first to run."
"Same," Argo muttered, instantly.
And just like that, the already chaotic party gained two new "problem children":
Silver Wolf Yuris—aggressively tsundere.Elmina the dancer—weaponized obsession.
Shirou stared into the middle distance and accepted the truth:
He wasn't leading an expedition.
He was running a hell-grade kindergarten field trip.
Deep in the forest stood a vast white ruin, broken but still majestic. Pillars engraved with ancient elven script rose like bones. The air shimmered with dense mana.
"This is it," the half-elf Fina whispered, eyes bright. "The Spirit King's shrine…"
At the central plaza, a massive greenish stone sat like an altar.
And in it—embedded to the hilt—was a sword.
A transparent crystal blade, breathing faint light as if alive.
Argo's eyes turned into stars. He sprinted forward.
"There's really a sword! That's my holy sword! My destiny! I'm coming!"
Shirou's instincts screamed.
"Wait—something's—!"
A shadow dropped from the shattered ceiling.
A three-headed hellhound, mutated—each head spitting a different element: fire, ice, lightning.
A level-five-class monster.
"Trash," Yuris grinned, silver light flashing from his greaves. "Perfect post-meal exercise."
He became a silver bolt, kicking through the fireball and slamming into the middle head with a crack of bone.
Ona and Elmina joined in—axe and curved blades weaving a brutal dance.
Fianna didn't hesitate.
"Knights of Fianna—charge!"
The shrine became chaos.
Shirou didn't charge.
He stood at the stone, eyes focused on the crystal sword, fingers brushing the hilt.
He didn't need a weapon right now.
He needed information.
"Synchronize—analyze."
Material: high-purity mana crystal.Enchantment: only one with a "pure heart" can draw it.Evaluation: not truly powerful—its symbolism far outweighs its practical value.
Shirou narrowed his eyes.
This wasn't a battle sword.
It was a key.
A key to something sealed.
Argo gripped the hilt with both hands.
"Holy sword! Answer my call!"
He pulled.
Nothing.
He pulled again.
Still nothing.
"…Am I not pure enough?" he whimpered. "I wash my face every day! Is it because I stole Ona's jerky?!"
Shirou laughed despite himself. "That's not the kind of 'pure' it means."
He leaned closer. "Argo. Stop thinking 'I want to be a hero.' Try thinking… 'I want to protect everyone.' Or… 'I want to make them smile.'"
Argo froze.
"…Make them smile?"
He closed his eyes.
Not cheers. Not gold. Not glory.
He saw Ona's satisfied grin while eating.Fina yelling "idiot" with worried eyes.Shirou's exhausted warmth.
"I want…" Argo whispered."I want this world—so full of sorrow—to have even a little more laughter."
His hands tightened.
"I want to become… the clown who makes everyone laugh."
HUM—!
The crystal sword resonated. Light surged.
The blade moved.
Argo's eyes went wide.
"IT MOVED—?!"
Everyone—even Yuris—stopped mid-fight.
Argo pulled.
The sword slid free.
He lifted it, trembling in triumph.
"HAHA! DID YOU SEE THAT?! I'm the chosen one! I'm—"
CRACK.
The sword snapped in half.
Dead center.
Ancient crystal fatigue, overzealous pulling, and one clown's complete lack of moderation.
Silence.
Even the hellhound forgot to snarl.
Argo stared at the broken hilt in his hand and slowly turned to dust emotionally.
"My holy sword… my legend… I'm cooked…"
Ona exploded into laughter, tears streaming.
"This is exactly what you would do! 'Heroic saga,' my ass!"
Yuris turned away, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
Even Fianna's stern eyes flickered with a tiny, reluctant spark of amusement.
Shirou sighed, then smiled—soft, genuine.
"The sword broke," he said quietly.
"But you did it."
He gestured at the group—laughing, alive, warmed by the absurdity.
"You made everyone smile."
He looked at Argo.
"Isn't that… the best kind of miracle?"
Then he crouched and picked up the broken crystal blade segment.
"Synchronize—fusion."
His left hand glowed.
"This material is excellent," Shirou murmured. "Perfect for rebuilding my arm."
He glanced at Argo's shattered "holy sword" with a wry warmth.
"And while we're at it…"
He smiled.
"…let's upgrade your broken legend too."
....
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