The cemetery of medieval Damascus... this silent witness to epochs long past sprawled beyond the city walls, where the dust of ages mingled with the scorching breath of the desert. Carved sandstone gravestones, etched with Kufic inscriptions, whispered to the visitors of this inhospitable place about mighty emirs, pious scholars, and great warriors, whose names the winds of oblivion had long erased from human memory. Here rested the Sufis who sought enlightenment in silence, and the merchants whose caravans once traversed the Silk Road.
Amid a chaotic jumble of stones and crumbling mausoleums, the barely discernible remnants of ancient gardens lay hidden, once sheltering the remains of the deceased under the shade of palm and cypress trees. The sun, which daily and mercilessly scorched the stones to a painful whiteness, cast a hue of ghostly beauty over this place. Only the whisper of the wind, sweeping through the ruins, broke the silence of this forsaken kingdom of the dead, reminding one of the transience of all things and the relentless march of time.
Shirou wandered thoughtfully among the graves along the barely recognizable paths, some illuminated by the faint flicker of torches. It was quiet. Only the cold wind of the night desert occasionally stripped leaves from the sparse trees, spinning them in a vibrant death dance.
As he watched another leaf flutter away, Emia sighed resignedly. The message he had received still failed to ignite any excitement within him, and the desire to roam the cemetery at the behest of his bloodsucking acquaintance was far from overwhelming. But there was no choice. Or rather, the alternatives seemed far less appealing.
— Meeting a vampire in a cemetery, could anything be more cliché? — he muttered irritably, squatting before a gravestone that had become quite overgrown with moss. — Well, you surely won't tell me anything, will you?
Minutes passed, and Altrouge still hadn't arrived. Emiya mentally cursed, clearly imagining how much pleasure she derived from the thought of him coming here at her beck and call, waiting like a mangy dog. Her venomous, self-satisfied smile, flickering in his mind, was so realistic that he instinctively grimaced.
As time dragged on, the longer he waited, the more an indistinct anxiety began to replace his irritation. Not so much because his counterpart had failed to honor their appointment, but due to the strange change in the atmosphere of this place...
The wind, which intermittently enveloped him in its icy currents, grew even colder and remarkably hollow. The air itself seemed to thicken and weigh down, while the vague outlines of shadows, drowning in the night's darkness, became more pronounced and deep, as if devouring the scant light illuminating this realm of the dead.
An unpleasant premonition intensified with each passing second, wrapping his consciousness in a sticky fear. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed mournfully, and the sound, like a bell tolling, shattered the silence that had settled heavily. The dead trees stood still, stretching their dry, gnarled branches, resembling the fingers of the deceased, toward the black abyss of the sky.
Focusing himself, Emiya could only snarl in irritation. He was not alone...
The silence was pierced by a sharp, hissing sound reminiscent of a snake's whisper, extinguishing all torches around him in an instant, and the darkness thickened to such an extent that he could barely see beyond his outstretched hand. The whisper came closer, chilling his very mind with an otherworldly cold. Shirou felt something brush against his cheek. Something fine, icy, and web-like, woven from darkness. His hand instinctively shot toward the hilt of his dagger, and he violently swung around, slashing through the air in a desperate attempt to drive away this strange evil.
The whisper intensified into a sinister murmur, the words slipping from his understanding, burdening him with their weight and destructive power. Straining to discern the source of the darkness, Shirou was surprised to see that the shadows around him, including his own, had begun to move, encircling him and thickening until he could see nothing at all. The mercenary found himself plunged into a netherworld where nothing existed except impenetrable darkness, and its power here was absolute. Each new breath was a struggle, as if the air had thickened and become viscous, filled with the poison of ancient and unfamiliar magic.
A faint whistle of air being sliced reached his ears, prompting Shirou to instinctively leap aside. The decision proved timely, as an unseen blade ripped through the fabric of his cloak near the chest. Emia desperately heightened his senses, trying to catch even a hint of the source of the attack, but the omnipresent darkness cocooned him like a web, preventing him from seeing beyond his own nose.
In the next moment, a sharp flash of pain pierced his leg. Looking down, to his utter shock, he discovered that his calf had been impaled... by his own shadow. A strange, pointed tendril had grown from it and was moving as if alive. Shirou attempted to jerk his leg away, but the shadow held him in a death grip, like a predator unwilling to release its prey.
A familiar whistle forced him to momentarily divert his attention from the wound, raising his Dainsleif before him to absorb an invisible strike that nearly reached his throat. This was the last straw, completely infuriating him. He was literally on the defensive, not understanding who was attacking him and how many assassins had come for his soul.
Without wasting time, Emiya pressed his hand against his wounded leg, and at that moment, the space around him warped, accompanied by a strange hissing, like hot metal plunging into water. The shadow that had held his leg captive began to melt under the influence of the entropic energy of the Imaginary Sector. And within a second, he managed to pull his leg from the trap, though he didn't dare to fully lean on it. Shirou involuntarily gritted his teeth, stifling a groan. Adrenaline was already dulling the pain, but he knew full well that it was no more than a temporary respite. A long fight awaited him, and every second of delay granted his foes extra chances.
The attackers' magic was unfamiliar to him, but he understood that he was caught in something resembling a closed barrier, difficult to escape without understanding the principles of its operation. But he could act more... roughly. Emiya's eyes ignited with the otherworldly glow of the Mystic Eyes of of Death Perception . The world instantly transformed, taking on the bloody hue of carnage and becoming covered with lines of Death.
The previously impenetrable structure of the barrier now appeared before him, covered in countless cracks pulsing with scarlet light of doom. Shirou focused, choosing the line that supported this cocoon, which was the most vulnerable point in the magical weave. The air vibrated as he directed his will, intensifying his gaze. The lines grew brighter, becoming almost tangible, and the point he needed throbbed like a heart. The assassin swung back, preparing to deliver one decisive blow, and brought down the blade of Dainsleif.
The world shuddered. The barrier trembled and then shattered with a crack, opening a path for him through the veil of shadows.
Shirou involuntarily squinted, momentarily blinded by the astonishing brightness of the moon. Fortunately, the opponents could not capitalize on his brief moment of distraction, as they were themselves in complete disarray, clearly not expecting their web of shadows to be destroyed so swiftly. Had they attacked immediately, Emiya would have been at a disadvantage, but... this invaluable moment was missed, and the assassin was able to look around and assess his opponents.
There were three of them. All draped in cloaks of ochre and sandy hues, allowing them to blend into the dunes. Their faces were, of course, obscured by the shadows of their hoods, and the lower half was concealed by scarves, like those worn by caravan workers to shield themselves from the omnipresent sand. Their hands donned thin leather gloves gripping strange, curved blades, and their legs were wrapped in layers of cloth, effectively muffling the sound of their steps.
— Well, well, competitors? — Shirou thought, surprised as he observed their attire, which rather unmistakably hinted at the nature of this trio's business.
However, he had little time for theories, as one of the assassins, emerging from his stupor, darted toward him with astonishing grace and speed, gliding over the sand like a serpent, preparing his khopesh for another strike. The blade flashed with a razor-sharp edge, glimmering just a couple of centimeters from Shirou's face. Dodging this attack, he noted with irritation that a second assassin had also regained his footing, positioning himself to the left, thus cutting off any escape route. They surrounded him like predators preparing to tear apart a cornered prey.
As if that were not enough, a torrent of blades and needles, woven from darkness, surged toward him from the surrounding shadows. There was no doubt about their danger, thus his current choice of weapon was evidently insufficient. Taking advantage of the enemy's momentary hesitation, Shiro clenched his fist as if grasping the hilt of an invisible blade, then he drew a second weapon from his reserve.
Out of nowhere, the sword appeared, appearing like a true work of art, yet it was as deadly as a cursed weapon. The guard resembled outstretched angel wings, the hilt was wrapped in unicorn leather, and along the long, moonlit blade, runes of ancient vows of loyalty and justice were etched. This sword stood in stark contrast to the Dainslef, which literally hummed in the assassin's other hand from a barely contained thirst for blood. Wielding both blades simultaneously was extremely dangerous and madness in its own right, but the situation was extraordinary, and he was willing to take the risk.
With a lightning-fast strike, he cleaved through most of the extending blades, mowing them down like grass and causing the shadows to jerk and dissipate in panic. Emiya smiled wryly, once again thanking fate for this gift. His mystic eyes allowed him to destroy not just living objects but essentially everything that left a mark and existed in the real world. Even magic, barriers, and magical weapons were powerless against the inevitability of Death.
But there was no time for gloating—two assassins continued to advance, slowly but surely pushing him back. It was clear that this pair was used to working in tandem, covering for each other—so synchronized and coordinated were their movements.
They attacked simultaneously, hoping to overwhelm him with numbers, but Shirou abruptly dropped to one knee, blocking the assault with his blades. Then he spun sharply, using a kick to unbalance one of the assassins, sending him stumbling back. Following up, and without giving them a moment to recover, he continued his turn, delivering a dual slicing strike to the second assassin. The latter tried to retreat, which saved his life, but the moment's hesitation allowed the tip of the Dainslef to deeply pierce the opponent's face, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound.
Usually, such an injury would be more than enough to either end the fight or at least throw the opponent off their rhythm, but for the assassin, it had the opposite effect. With renewed fury, he lunged at Shirou, delivering new, sweeping strikes as his partner finally managed to regain his footing. Emiya understood he could not allow these two to fall back into a synchronized rhythm, so he needed to finish off one of them as soon as possible.
Time Alter: Double Accel!
Time habitually slowed, giving him the chance to deftly deflect the opponent's blow, but he smoothly pivoted around his axis, launching another series of quick, slicing strikes. However, having two swords provided Shirou with enough power to deliver a counterattack strong enough to deflect his opponent's weapon aside, causing him to lose his balance and step back. This became his fatal mistake. As he raised his weapon for another strike, attempting to regain his footing, Emiya seized the Dainslef in a reverse grip and plunged it sharply into the assassin's chest. Blood gushed from the wound, splattering the blade with the color of fresh blood. The opponent froze, releasing his sword. His eyes, hidden in the half-shadow of his hood, widened in disbelief and pain. He tried to say something, but all that came from his mouth was an incoherent gasp. Without showing any regard for this, the Dainslef left the wound, and the unfortunate assassin collapsed as if cut down.
With a wild roar, the second assassin rushed at him, slicing the air before Shirou and unsuccessfully stabbing the khopesh deep into the ground. Emiya intended to capitalize on this mistake and finish him off, but his legs refused to obey. A quick glance revealed why. The shadows had come to life again, coiling around his legs like snakes, preventing him from taking another step. Cursing furiously and disregarding all caution, he brought down the blade of his second sword, risking injury to his other leg, but time was literally ticking away for him to weigh the pros and cons.
The tip of the sword sliced through the writhing shadow with astonishing ease, granting Shirou the long-awaited freedom just in time, as the second assassin finally pulled his weapon from the ground and unleashed a new barrage of furious attacks. The khopesh darted around like lightning, creating an impenetrable wall of steel around Shirou. He could barely parry, feeling the pain in his leg restrict his movements and preventing him from dictating the terms of the fight.
Pushing off the ground, Emiya rolled backward, escaping the deadly dance of blades. The assassin growled, pursuing him. The mad glint in his eyes shone with an unrestrained thirst for blood. They were only a few meters apart when Shirou suddenly straightened up and threw a handful of sand at his opponent. The assassin instinctively squinted, giving Emiya that crucial fraction of a second, which changed the outcome of the battle.
The blades clashed once more, but this time it was Shirou's turn to attack, squeezing the last remnants of adrenaline from his body to finish the fight as quickly as possible. Even though the opponent had lost the initiative, he still put up a solid defense. Their next clash even allowed him to elbow Emiya in the face, pushing him back. Believing in his strength, the assassin spun sharply, gaining speed for a powerful swing to behead Shirou, and this maneuver cost him everything.
Shirou managed to block the khopesh blade with the Dainslef, then transitioned to a reverse grip on his second sword and, closing the distance to a minimum, drove the blade as deeply into the assassin's ribcage as he could, tearing through muscle and crushing bone. Blood erupted in a hot fountain, splattering across Emiya's face. The opponent gasped, desperately trying to push him away, but the strength was already leaving him. The light in the assassin's eyes gradually faded, leaving room only for agony, hatred... and a desire to take Shirou with him to hell. Shirou would not allow a counterattack, disarming him of the khopesh from his weakened grasp, then yanking his sword from the gaping wound and backing away.
The assassin collapsed to his knees, futilely trying to cover the bleeding wound with his hands, but blood flowed in a thick stream through his cramping fingers. A last breath escaped his throat along with bloody foam, and then he fell sideways, plunging into eternal silence.
Caught up in the heat of battle, Shirou lost sight of the third opponent's presence, and this almost became his fatal mistake. Remembering his existence, the assassin suddenly turned to where the last of his unfortunate attackers should have been and saw him drawing his sword from its sheath, only to disappear in the next moment.
Emiya spun around in confusion and barely managed to block the assassin's strike, who had suddenly materialized behind him. This swift movement caused a considerable shock, but after defending against the descending blow and pushing his opponent back, the assassin regained his composure. And once again, to his annoyance, a torrential barrage of stabbing attacks rained down upon him from all the surrounding shadows, the number of which increased with each shadow he severed. Not to mention the fact that the third assassin was not idle, trying to reach Shirou with the blade of his khopesh.
However, Emiya quickly realized that his situation was not as hopeless as it had seemed during the initial exchange of blows. It was clear that this third assassin was the one controlling the shadows, but doing so while also wielding a sword proved quite difficult. This was evident from the fact that the power and coordination of the shadow attacks was far inferior to before, and his opponent clearly lacked much experience in swordsmanship compared to his cold comrades on the ground.
The difference in their skills was such that Shirou, initially taken aback, hesitated to make more aggressive moves, justifiably fearing that this might be a trap. But… after a minute of exchanging blows, it became apparent to him that there was no trap here. The clumsy, almost childish attempts of his opponent to parry his attacks revealed a complete lack of swordsmanship experience. This was so unexpected that it threw him off—after the intense duel with his partners, such an encounter seemed… absurd.
The sword's blade glided like a shadow. The assassin barely had time to comprehend what was happening when his once-imposing sword became a useless appendage in his trembling hand. The first strike was a deflecting one, bloodless, merely to disrupt balance. The second was precise, quick as a snake's bite, literally chopping off half of the opponent's blade, leaving him with only a ridiculous stub. A sharp sweep and a strike with the cross-guard sent the assassin crashing to the ground, and within moments, the blades of both swords were at his throat, ready to end his life.
- Stop! - the unfortunate assassin shouted sharply, raising his hands in a gesture of full submission. - I'm sure my request will hardly surprise you, but… I ask you to spare my life and listen to me.
Shirou couldn't help but marvel at how mundanely and calmly, without a hint of fear, those words were said. It was as if his opponent's life didn't hang by a thread, with the deadly blades ready to claim it. He even thought it might just be a hollow attempt to divert him and buy a few moments, but… even in the assassin's eyes, there was a strange indifference about his fate, mixed with a spark of genuine interest in the assassin's persona.
- You're right, such audacity no longer surprises me, - Shirou snorted, genuinely amused by how the situation had developed. - So… you tried to kill me, and now you're trying to persuade me to forgo rightful vengeance? Did I hear that right?
- I understand how it looks…
- You don't understand at all, you sandworm, - Emiya coldly interrupted him, deliberately pressing the blades against the opponent's neck.
— My death won't benefit you at all… — the interlocutor remarked calmly.
— Maybe, but seeing your body rotting one the ground will bring a smile to my face, — Shirou sneered sinisterly.
— But I could be…
— For the love of Allah, don't even start! I have no desire to hear your pathetic attempts to bargain for your life, — the assassin scoffed contemptuously. — You've pierced my leg, and that's quite painful, and you expect mercy after that?
— Yet I'm still alive, — the killer noted reasoningly after a moment's contemplation. — So you're still interested in what I have to say?
Shirou's first impulse was simply to sever his head and end this unpleasant nighttime rendezvous. That thought was tempting, but he managed to refrain. Not now. Not like this. Too many questions remained unanswered, too much was at stake. Rage boiled in his veins, demanding immediate release, but cold calculation begged for patience. He needed to uncover the truth, to understand.
First, he had to find out who his unfortunate killers were and why they decided to send him on a date with death. Had some vampire princess sent them, wanting to test him or simply play with him? Or were they part of the very power that had decided to step out of the shadows and obstruct his mission? A mountain of questions swarmed in his mind, but all were superficial, while intuition screamed of something larger, something that stubbornly eluded him…
— Is your target the leader of the Hashishins… or is it me personally? — he asked directly.
— And still, you're curious… — the killer replied with a smile in his voice, only to instantly feel the blade of one of the swords painfully graze his neck.
— Don't test my patience. At best, you've bartered yourself a couple of minutes of life, but I can't guarantee they'll be pain-free.
— My name is Azir, and I am a shadow mage from Al-Aziz. We were sent for your soul, Rashid ad-Din, — the killer replied obediently. — I don't know if you're aware, but in the last couple of years, you've built quite a reputation, one that warrants the attention of hired assassins.
— Hired assassins for my soul? What an irony... — Emiya smirked wryly.
— I didn't intend to kill you, — Azir stated unexpectedly. — And before you express your just skepticism about this, let me clarify… I've heard rumors that it was you who destroyed the Order of the Jagged Sun. Is that true?
— Let's assume so… — Shirou answered evasively.
— You and I… we want the same thing…
— You have no idea what I want, — Emiya interrupted him coldly. — Get to the point, your minutes are running out.
— We have a common enemy. My… brethren, — the last word escaped the shadow mage with palpable disdain, surprising Shirou. — Yes, as you might have noticed, I don't harbor much love for them, but I can't take them on alone. I need an ally strong enough to challenge them and not die a brave death. And I think, in light of recent events, you might be interested in that too.
— Really? — Emiya replied with a tone of feigned skepticism.
Admitting it openly was not something he was prepared to do, but the words of his hapless assassin had sparked his interest.
— You're not blind, I can see that. You should have noticed how they weave webs, and soon we'll all be caught in them. We must act while there's still a chance! — Azir exclaimed passionately, feeling his words start to yield the desired effect. — I possess information enough to ignite a war, but I lack the power to win it alone!
— So you need me?
— Your strength, your resources, your influence. You came here to help the Latins coming from the west, didn't you? — Seeing Shirou's eyebrow raise in surprise, he pressed on fervently. — Those who sent assassins after you desire the opposite. The arrival of the Crusaders will shift the established power balance, allowing the Holy See to cast its nets here, and such a prospect is unacceptable to my masters… Today's assassination attempt is just the first step; there will be others, far more dangerous, but I can help prevent them!
— Very generous of you, but you inspire no trust in me, — Emiya shook his head. — An alliance based on hatred is, at best, a shaky affair, and I see those little sparks that dance in your eyes whenever you mention your masters. People like you lack restraint and are extremely reckless; you care not for the consequences of your actions…
— And you're not like that? — Azir interrupted him with a smirk. — Do you think the reason those people have managed to expand their influence and become bold enough to challenge the Angel of Death and his order is because… someone removed the stone that was holding back the flood?
Shirō ground his teeth, barely restraining himself from beheading him for those words. The thin worm of doubt that had been gnawing at him since that very moment stirred again deep within. Did he really choose the lesser evil back then? Was it worth choosing at all?...
No. Now was clearly neither the time nor the place to think about that.
— You have every right to kill me; it would be just, — Azir spoke, pulling Shirou from his spiral of thoughts. — However, I ask you to reconsider once more. Yes, perhaps our motives differ, but our goal is the same. I need you more than you need me; this is not flattery but acknowledgment of an undeniable fact. And this fact tells us that our cooperation will yield benefits for both of us. And if we both achieve what we desire, how important will all those little details be?
Emiya pondered for a moment. Credit where it's due; this guy could be quite eloquent, and there was certainly some truth in his words, as a corpse wouldn't be able to tell him much more, and information was as vital to him as water in a desert. Hassan had warned him that a faction with vastly greater influence and capabilities than might initially be apparent would enter the fray, and this was not some random variable to be dismissed.
Such a scenario suggested the necessity of reassessing the situation, shifting the picture of the upcoming mission to something much larger and more sinister. Questions were multiplying, while answers, ironically, dwindled. The one thing that remained unchanged was his objective. And it seemed… he would have to cooperate with this Azir, no matter what his true motives were. And largely, this cooperation would have to be built on trust, which was a rather perilous prospect… On the other hand, there were numerous ways to ensure his loyalty and usefulness. After all, he was just another tool with his own nicks and cracks. The key was to clearly define the boundaries of what was permissible, so this "partner" didn't come to think of himself as anything more than a pawn in his game.
— Alright… — Shirou finally said thoughtfully, sheathing his swords. — Let's consider this a temporary alliance as long as you remain useful. However, don't get too excited: usefulness is a very relative concept and subject to the influence of circumstances.
— I'm glad to hear that common sense has prevailed, — Azir replied with relief, struggling to rise to his feet and gingerly touching the cuts on his neck. — Don't worry; I'll quickly prove my worth.
— We'll see, — Shirou responded with a hint of disdain. — For now… fix yourself up and head to the Umayyad Mosque. Wait for me there, and we'll discuss everything in more detail. I hope I don't need to remind you that if I don't find you there…
— You don't need to finish that thought. I've effectively signed my death sentence by talking to you, so you are my only hope for revenge and survival, — Azir said knowingly as he removed his hood and revealed his face to Emiya.
His skin, the color of dark basalt, seemed almost impervious to light, as if absorbing it while leaving only glimmering reflections in the depths of the creases marking his face. His eyes, framed by thick brows like a raven's wing, burned with a cold, sinister flame, revealing a personality of unyielding will.
Not saying another word and slightly bowing his head in respect, he vanished among the graves, leaving Shirou in the company of two corpses. Feeling the tension in the air dissipate, he sighed in relief, only to grimace painfully a second later. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the wound in his leg was unpleasantly reminding him of its presence. It wasn't deadly, and it couldn't even be called particularly dangerous, which further confirmed that that guy hadn't been trying to kill him. But… that didn't spare him from needing to treat the wound.
Shirou looked around. The cold moonlight silvered the gravestones, casting long, sinister shadows. The sound of his own breathing now seemed deafening in the dead silence. Rolling up his pant leg, he saw the wound, already covered in congealing blood, which, as he had suspected, was shallow. The pain, however, throbbed, reminding him of its existence with each step. Taking a small flask from his belt, he carefully rinsed the wound to prevent infection, then pressed it with his hand and began to concentrate his magical energy.
Spiritual healing was a relatively well-known yet complex magical discipline. For any experienced mage, it wasn't difficult to heal a couple of cuts or bruises, but something more significant required a certain talent. Fortunately for Emiya, he was one of those who possessed such a talent. Whether it was due to the healing Noble Phantasm within him or his possession of Mystical Eyes, he managed quite well. In the profession of an assassin, merely being able to inflict harm on others was not enough; talents that could prolong one's own life were far more valued.
In healing himself and others, he perceived wounds and damage as intermittent red lines, and injecting magical energy at their intersections could heal the injuries. Every scratch, deep cut, or broken bone transformed into a graph on an invisible map of the body. Absolute concentration was required; otherwise, the flow of energy could distort the line, creating a new knot of pain. Consequently, internal injuries were the most challenging. Even for him, they presented themselves as invisible intertwining threads, like the roots of an old tree, delving deep within. Here, he had to rely entirely on intuition and anatomical knowledge, feeling each pulse and every nerve. It was needless to say how exhausting such an endeavor was...
- Well, well, I must admit, I'm pleasantly impressed, - echoed a familiar syrupy voice in his ears.
He didn't respond immediately, finishing the treatment on his leg before letting out an irritated sigh, rising to his feet, and casting the most contemptuous glance he could muster at the newcomer.
- I take it… I'm to thank you for this warm welcome?
- Oh, what gave me away? - Altrouge innocently asked, tilting her head like a child.
- At the very least, it's your mischievous smirk that refuses to leave your face, - Emiya snorted. - You set up the meeting and then showed up late…
- Well, don't make that face. A true lady, much like wine, reveals herself only with time, - she playfully noted.
- Uh-huh, in that case, your wine has probably soured by now…
- If it comforts you, this little scuffle wasn't my idea, - Altrouge raised her hands. - Initially, I really intended just to talk to you… but then I came across some curious rumors that a bunch of grave robbers had targeted my dear cloak-and-dagger knight… - With those words, she winked at Shirou. - So I figured… I'd facilitate your meeting and see how you handle yourself in action.
- And… the time I nearly took your head off... doesn't count? - Shiro asked mockingly, relishing how his words knocked her off her high horse.
- Listen, boy… - she replied coldly and with a frown. - The fact that you caught me off guard after a tough fight doesn't make you a damn Hercules.
- Interesting, would your severed head have been just as pretty… - a sharp pang of pain in his chest cut off his mocking tirade, forcing him to grit his teeth so hard he thought they might crack.
But he had no intention of giving her the satisfaction of showing his pain.
- Yes, when you're silent, you certainly have much more charm… - Rouge mused. - Now, enough of the poetry; let's get to the point of our meeting.
- Hasn't it been a year already… - Shirou hissed, still wincing from the lessening pain.
- I have a task for you. A job that someone like you will surely be eager to take on, - Brunestud said, disregarding his comment. - Recently, one… pariah has moved into these parts, a self-proclaimed protégé of Straut, craving glory and the attention of my knight. The problem is, this blockhead has been drawing too much attention lately and risks ruining everything for me. As you can understand, that is unacceptable…
- Why me? Why can't you handle this yourself or send one of your muscle-bound brutes?"
- My, as you put it, 'muscle-bound brutes' are currently occupied with far more important matters than hunting rats, - she explained, speaking as if imparting basic truths. - And I prefer not to stoop to such vulgarity unless absolutely necessary. Besides, I thought you wouldn't miss the chance to thin our numbers, would you?
- What exactly is so special about him that you felt the need to pay attention and use me to eliminate him? - Shirou inquired, a hint of curiosity in his tone.
- Honestly? A year ago, I would have waved a hand at this because I couldn't care less about the mercenaries, peasants, and other heroes he's killed without fear or reproach, - the vampire shrugged. - However, in light of recent events, he's at risk of attracting too much unwanted attention…
- The Crusaders… and where they are, the Holy Church follows, - Emiya murmured, understanding dawning on him.
- Yes, - she nodded in agreement, smiling at his insight. - For the clergy, this would serve as an extra reason to stretch out their greedy little hands here. They pose no threat to me or my… 'muscle-bound brutes,' but they could significantly complicate my plans, and I've tracked these brutes for too long to let some clerical monkeys ruin everything!
- Well, well, such expression. I'm almost surprised someone can throw you off balance, - Shirou said with exaggerated sympathy.
- Don't make me laugh. The interests of these 'holy fathers' never extended beyond greed and a mundane thirst for power. The scum that has crossed my path are far more dangerous. Their motivations involve chaos and destruction, and their tools—ancient rituals and dark magic. They will stop at nothing to achieve their goals, - Altrouge gritted her teeth before regaining her composure. - But none of this should concern you. Your goal is to kill one of those loathsome bloodsuckers. It's straightforward and simple, no embellishments. After this, I'll be sure that your successes aren't just a matter of luck, and that you can indeed be useful to me in the future.
- Who is he and where can I find him? - Shirou asked after a moment of thought.
- His name is Valash Harkon. He's one of Rizo's followers who, as a mortal, managed to impress him, for which he was granted a chance. But… as I mentioned, his activities may attract a lot of unwanted attention, and that cannot be allowed. How you handle this doesn't concern me, but I advise against delaying as he rarely lingers in one place.
- And won't your knight be upset about this? - Shirou asked with irony.
- On the contrary, if you kill him, it means Straut was mistaken and wouldn't have had a chance from the start, - Rouge replied with grim amusement. - If someone like you can kill him, he doesn't deserve even a shadow of my knight's attention. You can find him in the mountains to the north; he often lies in wait for travelers on the roads, challenging them to prove their strength. If you can't stumble upon him like that, he can be found in one of the caves. Locals call it Magaratt ad-Damm. He's likely set up a lair there, so you can just lie in wait, as sooner or later, he'll come to spend the day there.
- How will I contact you when it's done?
- Oh... I just knew you'd miss me! - Altrouge giggled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. - Don't worry, I'll learn everything without you, just as I'll let you know the place for our next meeting. And don't worry, next time it will be just us, no extra third wheels!
- So much joy, I hardly know what to do with it, - Shirou grumbled, a clear tinge of irony in his voice.
- Well then, I won't distract you further. Until we meet again, my Death Knight! - Rouge said coyly, disappearing before Emia could retort.
Looking around and sensing her absence, he involuntarily cursed.
- What the hell has my life become?...
***
— Ha… ha…
Shirou breathed heavily, convulsively trying to catch his breath while wiping the blood that flowed freely from a small wound on his face. The adrenaline coursing through his veins gradually receded, leaving only a dull ache and a sense of finality. The last blow had come unexpectedly and swiftly, like a snake's bite, prompting Shirou to ruefully acknowledge that he had underestimated his opponent.
The vampire killed by Emiya lay just a few steps away, pinned to the rocky floor of the cave by Dainsleif, which restrained any attempt to escape. However… if something had been sustaining his life just moments ago, that something had already departed from this mortal coil. His armor was cracked in many places, making its dark crimson hue even more vivid. The echo of the battle faded, leaving only the heavy breathing of the assassin and the faint, dwindling clang of steel. The damned blade piercing the heart had left no shadow of a chance. The weapon pulsed with a crimson hue, reveling in the new stream of bloodshed.
The cave that had served as the monster's hideout had now become his tomb. Water droplets falling from the stalactites counted the seconds in silence, and the moonlight streaming through a crevice illuminated the pale face of the defeated, frozen in a grimace of pain and surprise. The victory had not come easily. The vampire had proven far stronger than he had anticipated, and his blood magic had nearly shattered Emiya's defenses, not to mention that the vampire was an excellent swordsman.
Shirou's body clearly signaled that it needed rest. This was no surprise, as although Shirou had gotten used to prolonged battles and physical injuries, it didn't make him an indomitable berserker. He felt mana slowly leaving his body, leaving only fatigue and tremors in his hands. Every muscle ached, as if twisted into a tight coil. His head throbbed, and a persistent pain pulsed in his temples. Even his breathing felt ragged and shallow. Shirou felt like a squeezed lemon, all energy wrung out of him.
He leaned back against the rough wall, slowly sliding down. The cold stone was a pleasant refreshment for his heated skin. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on his breathing, to find that internal core that always helped him recover.
Usually, in his line of work, finding a target was almost as hard as eliminating it, but this time Brunestud's tip was a great help. Emiya didn't waste time wandering aimlessly through the local mountains and headed straight for the right cave. Luckily, it wasn't hard to find, as the locals were well aware of it, given its notorious reputation. According to legend, it was here that Cain killed his brother Abel, which is why the cave got its name — the Cave of Blood. The vampire surely found this amusing and symbolic.
The wait lasted several hours, but when the target came into view, the vampire showed not an ounce of surprise at the appearance of yet another contender for his life. In any case, the half-buried remains of past visitors rotting just a few steps from the cave entrance were quite eloquent. No dialogue was needed; both knew very well how this would end...
However, the dying expression on the bloodsucker's face clearly indicated that he expected a different outcome.
Yet Shirou could not call this success deserved. The multitude of shallow wounds covering his body, including his face, and the dull, silent pain in his limbs were clear signs that he had underestimated the skill of the vampire he had slain. With thoughts of killing someone like Altruj Brunstad or her minions now appearing utterly laughable, he understood clearly — he had simply gotten luckylast time.
- Alright, enough of this, - he mentally chided himself, taking a deep breath and getting to his feet as he headed for the exit.
There was still much to do. First, he needed to interrogate the Azir he had temporarily left under Balthazar's watch until he finished dealing with the vampire hunt. The outcome of their conversation would determine what to do about this unexpected ally and how useful he would be now and in the near future.
Secondly, he needed to check on his subordinates and see if progress had been made, as the reports on the overall situation should already be ready to help him coordinate the general action plan more effectively.
And thirdly… he just wanted to sleep. To lie down and close his eyes, not waking up for the next twenty hours. Sure, that number was fantastical, but in his current state, even the prospect of a couple of hours of sleep seemed like heavenly bliss.
Lost in these thoughts, he didn't immediately hear the footsteps echoing off the cave walls. The stone crumbled under someone else's feet, each sound bringing the inevitable encounter closer. A sense of dread coiled in his heart like a poisonous ivy. Whoever it was, they were clearly looking for him or the vampire he had killed. The footsteps grew clearer, and he felt all his muscles tense. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade, which began to vibrate in his clenched palm.
- Ah, it seems I've arrived too late? - the newcomer spoke in German.
A few more steps, and Emiya could make out the newcomer in detail.
He was a young man, no older than thirty. His slightly long, light-colored hair was tied back in a convenient ponytail. His pale crimson eyes slid from the vampire's corpse to Shirou with keen intrigue. Although he was dressed in a traditional Arab burnous, Emiya caught sight of a glinting silver cross around his neck. The outfit masked his body fairly well, but the assassin was ready to bet his hand that somewhere under those folds was at least a dozen Black Keys.
The man standing before him was clearly an executioner, a killer in the service of the Holy See...
- Did he come all this way for that vampire? Is it a personal vendetta, or did he decide not to stray from his usual business while traveling with a Crusader army?"
- If you came for the bloodsucker, then yes, you're too late, - Emiya replied, smirking meaningfully in German.
- Interesting... you speak German? - the clergyman said, surprised. - How amusing... I suspected someone might come for him, but... heh heh... I didn't think it would be one of yours...
- If that's all, let me pass. You can stay and do whatever your heart desires here, - Shirou said indifferently, stepping toward the exit.
But before he could take another step, blades of Black Keys glinted between the executioner's fingers, and sparks crackled between them. The clergyman smiled meaningfully and, in a threatening yet courteous manner, said:
- I'm afraid… I'll have to ask you a few questions, and please, let's not complicate things with unnecessary drama... - With that, he made a small, truly theatrical bow and introduced himself. - My name is Michael Roa Valdamjong, repent… or rest in peace!