Anomaly Ch. 65 (Patreon)

They all sat around a table. ‘They’ being the leaders of the refugees, Lady Barthomeloi, Countess Myui, the Third Recon team, and Shirou and his group. It had been only half an hour since Zouken had been ‘driven off’ by Lady Barthomeloi.

Many in Italica were, rightfully, terrified of the Queen, as her power had been on full display against the Imperials. The leaders, Komakado especially, was keeping an eye on her just for that. Then again, his fear was not unfounded - Lorelei’s power had basically been a secret that most governments on Earth did not know about. With the slightest bit of effort, she had wiped out an army without breaking a sweat.

For an intelligence officer, that kind of power, to kill so many so fast, was a Threat, with a capital T.

Countess Myui, meanwhile, was quietly nursing a cup of tea. Paler than normal, would be how Shirou described her as.

Komakado cleared his throat, breaking the heavy stillness. The Japanese intelligence operative adjusted his seating position, his gaze darting sideways once more toward Lorelei, who sat with a posture so rigid and pristine it looked carved from marble.

"If I understand correctly," Komakado began, his voice measured and carefully professional, "The entity you just dealt with, this...Zolgen Makiri is not affiliated with the Empire. And that he comes from our world."

"He is a parasite." Lorelei flatly stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. She didn't look at Komakado; her eyes remained fixed on a polished silver teaspoon resting beside her unused teacup,"A multi-centennial magus whose continued existence is an insult to the Mage's Association. That he chose to burrow into the leylines of this primitive frontier changes nothing of his status. He is a target for eradication."

Itami winced slightly, leaning back in his chair with a quiet sigh as he spoke, "With all due respect, Lady Barthomeloi, your definition of 'eradication' just left a fifty-meter crater outside a civilian city. If your idea of handling local wildlife involves leveling the geography, our superiors back at Alnus are going to have a field day with the paperwork."

A micro-expression of absolute disdain crossed Lorelei’s features, though she deigned not to dignify the JSDF lieutenant with a verbal counter.

"Itami's right about the optics, even if he's blunt about it." Shirou continued, rubbing his temples as a fresh wave of exhaustion pounded against his skull, “At the same time, it was probably the least destructive option Lady Barthomeloi could have done.”

“Excuse me, the least destructive?” Komakado was not the only one alarmed at what he’d said. More than a few of the other leaders nervously glanced towards the person in question, the Dark Elf leader most especially considering they sat next to Lorelei.

For her part, the Vice Director seemed pleased at Shirou’s words. Well, to be honest, it’s more that she didn’t raise any sign of dissatisfaction, which was more or less the same.

“When it comes to entities similar to Zouken, unless you strike directly at their weak point, then they will most likely survive even a nuclear detonation.” Shirou laid out the facts, as distasteful as the idea of Zouken surviving was, “In this case, Zouken’s main body is likely in another location. The Imperial capital, most likely.”

“And what evidence do you have for this?” Anatoly spoke, the Yaga’s hairs still bristling in a barely contained adrenaline rush, “If this vermin controls the leylines, what stops him from manifesting right beneath us again?”

“Because of the resource cost.” Shirou answered, keeping his voice steady as he traced the rim of his empty cup, “Zouken manifests his body through the use of familiars. To do so, he must breed more and more Crest Worms, which takes time and resources away from his primary goal. Moreover, this world is rich in unrefined ether, but it isn’t infinite in any single localized node. To anchor himself a distance away from his actual location, he needs a system that can reliably transmit signals over a large distance.”

“The Rondel Grand Leyline.” Lelei picked up where he ended. He had asked the young mage about the existence of the leyline shortly after they had departed the ‘battlefield’. Apparently, it was such a powerful leyline that mages of the Rondel had built the city over.

Judging by the nods around the table, the locals of the Special Region already knew about it, “Muhhh~ Then shouldn’t that mean that this Zouken guy should be in Rondel and not the capital?” Helena the pixie rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

“Too many mages. Detection inevitable.” Lelei continued with a shake of her head, “Objectively better base is at other leyline nodes. Alnus, Capital, closest ones.”

The Grand Leyline that the mages of the Empire tapped into flowed in several distinct points. The main, most known one was Rondel, seen as the ‘original’ point of the leyline, as it was the first one that mages discovered. Following that line, it flowed into the Alnus Hill, which was all too expected. Interestingly, Alnus was the intersection point of multiple other leylines, though he hadn’t inquired about those just yet.

The Rondel Leyline would then continue across the entirety of the Imperial lands, and then beyond it. Mapping out the full scope of it was still an undertaking that hadn’t been completed. What was known is that there were more nodes where the mass of magical energy would ‘clump’ up, causing a massive store of energy that any decent mage could tap into.

Hence, how the first Saderan city got so powerful. With access to ample farmland, excess magical energy for their equipment, and weak neighbors, they could quickly expand their borders to annex everyone and everything around them.

By the time they got to Rondel, the Mage City couldn’t do anything against the armies that the Imperials could muster, even with their own prowess in the mystics. Nowadays, the city was more or less a city state that was completely subservient to the Empire, much to the ire of the older generation of mages - Cato being one of them.

"The ritual he’s planning requires a massive amount of magical energy to fully power, which means Zouken has chosen either the capital or Alnus as his primary anchor. More than likely, it’s the capital, as It's defensible, it's central, and it's far enough from Rondel that the local mages won't detect his workings until it's too late." Shirou nodded towards Lelei, who gave a small nod of acknowledgement back.

Komakado was the first to break the quiet. His fingers were steepled, his eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden table, "If the capital is his stronghold, then a military response is out of the question. We don't have the manpower. The JSDF isn't going to authorize an assault on a foreign capital based on the word of a single man, no matter how credible."

Komakado sighed as he tapped the table with his hand, "Look, the would be invading army is gone." He stated, his voice carrying the careful neutrality of a man processing the impossible. "All of it. Every last soldier Zorzal sent. No survivors." 

His gaze flicked to Lorelei, then away, "That buys us time. Days, maybe a week, before word reaches the capital that the force has been annihilated."

"Time we cannot waste." Shirou's voice was flat, eroded. He could feel the weight of his own words pressing against his ribs, each one a stone, "Zouken is still out there. And he is close to completing his objective."

His palms were damp. He pressed them flat against the table's scarred wood, grounding himself in the grain's familiar bite.

Myui drew a slow, unsteady breath, "Then let him complete it. Let him rot in the capital. We have survived. My people are still breathing. I will not-" Her voice cracked, a hairline fracture in her composure, "-I will not march them into the city that would have them enslaved. Into the heart of the Empire that would see them all dead. Not for a war between mages from another world."

Shirou's jaw tightened. He could feel the weight of their gazes - suspicion, exhaustion, fear. The air in the room had grown thick, pressing against his lungs like water.

"This isn't about a war between mages." He said slowly, each word measured, "This is about a man who has spent five hundred years refusing to die. A man who has found a world where he can complete a ritual that should have been impossible. And when he completes it-"

"Emiya." Komakado's voice was quiet, almost gentle, "You keep speaking of what he will do. What he plans. But you haven't told us why he matters to you. Specifically."

Shirou's throat closed.

The silence stretched, elastic and suffocating.

His hands were still flat on the table. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips. "He was-he was the grandfather of someone I cared about. Someone he destroyed. From the inside. Over decades."

He didn't mention Sakura's name. He couldn't. The syllables would have cracked his voice open.

"So this is personal." Itami's tone was flat. Not accusatory, clinical. A soldier reading a target profile, "This isn't about stopping a threat to the Special Region. This is about settling an old score."

"It's both."

"Which one matters more, Emiya?" Komakado leaned forward. His eyes were sharp, dissecting, "If we had a way to contain Makiri here, to seal him in this world forever, would you accept that? Or would you still demand we march on the capital? Hell, going by what I know, you could do it by yourself if you wanted!"

The accusation stung because it was true.

One Caladbolg II. One shot. The capital reduced to rubble, Zouken's anchor annihilated, the ritual shattered before it could bear fruit. He had seen the weapon's destructive potential in Archer's hands. He had traced it himself, felt the weight of its spiraling power in his palms. It would be clean. Efficient. Final.

His fingers twitched against the wood grain. He could feel the projection already forming at the edge of his consciousness. The blueprint, the structure, the precise application of force required. It would take seconds. It would end everything.

And it would kill everyone in the capital.

Not just soldiers. Not just nobles. Thousands of civilians. Families. Children. People who had no part in Zouken's schemes, no knowledge of the war between mages from another world. They would die because Shirou Emiya decided they were acceptable collateral damage.

Was that what a hero did?

The thought curdled in his stomach. He could taste it, sour and metallic, rising in his throat.

He had spent a decade as an Enforcer. Kill, maim, capture. The mantra of the Clock Tower's executioner. He had told himself it was necessary. That the Sealing Designates he hunted were threats to humanity. That their deaths prevented more deaths.

Was he any different from Archer?

The Heroic Spirit EMIYA. The Counter Guardian. The future version of himself who had abandoned everything in pursuit of a hollow dream. Archer had killed without hesitation. Without remorse. He had become a sword, sharp and emotionless, cutting down threats to humanity's survival with mechanical precision.

Shirou had looked at that broken man and seen his own future. Had sworn to be different. Had pledged to find another way.

And yet, here he was. Contemplating the destruction of an entire city. Calculating the cost-benefit of mass murder. Weighing human lives like coins on a scale.

The blood on his hands had long since dried. He just hadn't noticed.

But when he did? The realization hit him like a physical blow. His chest constricted. His vision swam.

He had been telling himself this was about stopping Zouken. About preventing further deaths. About being a hero, saving the innocent, protecting the helpless.

That was a lie.

He didn't want to kill an entire city. Not because it was wrong - it was, but that wasn't the reason. No, Shirou didn't want it to be him that did it. He would have to face the reality that he was the monster. He was the executioner.

That Shirou Emiya would be, ironically, the Fuyuki Fire for those that would survive.

He wanted someone else to make that choice. Someone who wouldn't hesitate. Someone like Lady Barthomeloi, who would reduce the capital to rubble without a second thought. Someone like Archer, who would see the mathematics of sacrifice and accept it without blinking.

I want the blood to be on someone else's hands.

The admission was ugly. Selfish. It was the confession of a man who had spent years pretending he was better than he was, only to realize he was still the same flawed, frightened person he'd always been.

He remembered a conversation, years ago. Rin, looking at him with those eyes of hers, "You're not a hero, Emiya. You're just a boy who wants to save people because it makes you feel better about yourself."

He had denied it then. He had believed she was wrong, that his motivations were pure, that his dream was noble and selfless. Wasn’t fake.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

What does it mean to be a hero?

He had asked himself that question a thousand times. Had come up with a thousand answers. But none of them had ever felt quite right. Because the truth was simpler, and more terrifying, than any of them.

A hero was someone who sacrificed. Someone who gave up their own happiness, their own safety, their own life, for the sake of others. Someone who accepted the weight of their choices and didn't flinch from the consequences.

Archer had done that. He had sacrificed his humanity. His soul. Everything he was. And in doing so, he had become something hollow. Something that could no longer be called a man.

I am the bone of my sword.

Shirou didn't want to become that. He wanted to be human. To feel. To care. To hold onto the parts of himself that made him who he was. But he’d lived so long just pretending to be human that he just didn’t know how.

In the end, Komakado’s words remained unanswered as the sound of helicopter blades filled their ears.

…