Orario's Pleasure Quarter was a breeding ground for desire—and a safe harbor for sin. The glittering lights here formed the sharpest possible irony against the sanctity of Babel Tower.
The instant Shirou Emiya stepped through the front doors of Amethyst House, he was swallowed by perfume so thick it might as well have been fog—and by the unmistakable scent of money.
The place was obscenely luxurious: crystal chandeliers bright enough to stab the eyes; every table and ornament screaming "I'm expensive." Music and alcohol-laced sweetness drifted through the air like a narcotic.
This atmosphere was basically the opening cutscene of a classic "dark-side dungeon instance."
Difficulty: instantly elevated.
"Target confirmed: third floor, left wing, second room. Finn, infiltration mode engaged."
Shirou murmured into the micro-communication magecraft hidden in his collar. He maintained his "noble bodyguard" persona and rejected the pretty hostess who approached—expressionless, cold, professional.
"Good luck, Emiya," Finn's voice crackled back, laced with helplessness and faint tension. "Remember: if you're exposed, withdraw immediately. Bete is on the perimeter to extract you. Don't play hero. Your job is intel and rescue."
"Understood. Objective: Haruhime. I will avoid all unnecessary combat. I'll finish within five minutes and prevent alarm escalation."
Shirou inhaled, then began his "stealth" run.
Truthfully… this assassin-style behavior suited Shirou much more.
After all, he was Kiritsugu's "student."
Stealth Mode: Emiya Shirou
Presence Concealment (Pseudo) was active, but in a dense "nightclub map," the biggest threats weren't monsters—they were NPC movement, patrol routes, and line-of-sight cones.
And with Shirou being only Level 2, if a high-tier mage scanned him, his aura would stand out like a lightbulb in the dark.
Shirou's talent rating:
As a straightforward "hero"? Stealth is negative points.
As a precision killer trained by Kiritsugu? He only needs:
one opening,
a silent sleeve weapon,
and a perfect understanding of human anatomy.
He slipped through the crowd with elegance, pretending to search for a "missing noble lady."
His Mind's Eye (True) became a radar system—mapping mana fluctuations, guard sightlines, and even magecraft traps beneath the floor.
In Shirou's vision, this extravagant palace wasn't luxury.
It was a three-dimensional tactical map built from red and green points.
Third floor: Level 3 guards.
Patrol cycle: 2 minutes.
His strategy was simple: never enter a sight cone, and never produce sound.
First Gate: The Stairwell Guards
At the stairway to the third floor, he hit the first obstacle.
Two guards in black suits with swords at their waists leaned on the railing, chatting casually.
Their muscle lines and weapon carriage screamed: trained Level 3 adventurers.
"Hey, heard the boss landed a huge deal today?"
"Shh—don't run your mouth. That's contraband even the Guild can't touch. Defense got bumped straight to Level 4. The air itself is under barrier coverage. Word is that 'Lord' personally ordered zero mistakes."
Shirou waited.
Five seconds. Four. Three…
When they turned and began walking—backs facing the stairs—
that perfect timing arrived.
The lifeline of every magecraft assassin.
"Trace—On. (Silent)"
His hands moved like afterimages.
Two projected sleeve-daggers—compact, mana-light, Kiritsugu-style tools—snapped out in perfectly measured arcs.
Thk. Thk.
Not lethal.
They struck pressure points at the neck: a clean knockout method designed for maximum control with minimum noise.
The guards didn't even have time to shout.
Their bodies collapsed soundlessly onto the carpet.
"Cleanup crew deployed."
Shirou dragged them into a closet under the stairs, shoved them inside, and sealed the door with projected mana-thread to prevent accidental waking.
"…Great. Dirtying my tailcoat again."
Even during assassination, the "domestic mom" part of Emiya Shirou couldn't stop worrying about leaving a mess behind.
Third Floor: Barrier Web and a Locked Door
The third floor security was clearly upgraded.
A thin mana barrier flowed through the air—sticky like a spiderweb—designed to detect intruders.
If Shirou didn't keep his mana perfectly suppressed with Presence Concealment (Pseudo), he'd have been detected instantly.
Target room: left wing, ahead.
Shirou flattened against the wall.
Mind's Eye confirmed the door had not only a physical lock, but three layers of mana cipher locks.
Brute force would trigger maximum alarm escalation.
"Trace—On. (Analysis)"
He placed his finger to the lock.
His circuits connected into the mechanism.
Level 2 mana.
SSS-tier precision.
And the absurd cheat-skill: Structural Analysis.
In front of Shirou, mechanical and magecraft locks had no secrets. Their blueprints unfolded and decomposed in his mind.
Five seconds later:
Click.
All locks disengaged.
Even Riveria, listening remotely back at Twilight Manor, would've frowned at how fast that was.
Shirou pushed the door open and slipped inside.
Haruhime
The room's interior was the opposite of the club's glamour.
Dim light.
One lonely magic-stone lamp.
A suffocating aura of despair.
In the center, curled into herself, was a small figure.
"…Haruhime?"
Shirou approached.
A demi-human girl with soft golden hair, fox ears, and nine tails.
She wore a thin kimono. Her body trembled. Her eyes were swollen red from crying—filled with fear.
"D-don't… don't come closer…"
Seeing a black-clad stranger appear, Haruhime's voice came out weak and terrified.
Those fox-girl golden eyes held the kind of despair that made it feel like the entire world had already betrayed her.
"Don't be afraid."
Shirou let his concealment drop and offered a gentle smile. He softened his voice deliberately, trying to calm her.
"I'm Shirou Emiya of the Loki Familia. I'm here to rescue you."
"…Loki Familia?"
Haruhime froze.
A flicker of disbelief stirred in her eyes.
To her, Loki Familia was the synonym for heroes.
"Yes."
Shirou knelt and placed the Guild's proof token on the floor—an emblem engraved with the Guild crest.
"We know your ability. We know you were imprisoned here."
"Trust me."
"Come with me. You deserve a better life than this."
Haruhime stared at the emblem—then at the boy's eyes, so straightforwardly righteous they felt sharper than diamonds.
"…A-are you… a hero?" she whispered, voice shaking.
"No."
Shirou smiled faintly and extended his hand.
"I'm just an idiot who can't stop sticking his nose into other people's problems."
"Come on. Let's go."
Alarm. Exposure. A Trap
Just as Haruhime trembled and started to reach for his hand—
"ALARM! ALARM! Intruder detected in the third-floor target room!"
A shriek of sound tore through the building.
Red warning light—like veins—spread across the walls.
"Damn it—exposed?"
Shirou's expression sharpened.
His infiltration had been flawless.
Did he step on a trigger?
Mind's Eye scanned every corner—no residue, no trap signature.
Then a voice came, mocking:
"Hmph. You really think we'd let a Level 2 newbie stroll into a Level 5's hunting ground?"
The door was kicked open.
Three adventurers in high-end light armor flooded the room.
Their pressure exceeded even Dix's underlings.
The leader, a scar-faced man, radiated mana at the threshold of Level 5.
"So you're Loki Familia's 'Senji Muramasa,' huh?"
He grinned, gripping a curved blade that oozed black miasma.
"We've been waiting for you. Your 'companion' already talked—your supporter sold your route for a few thousand valis."
A lie. Cheap bait.
And it didn't move Shirou's heart even slightly.
Because "Ally of Justice" Shirou was the kind of fool who could forgive betrayal—
let alone an obvious fabrication.
"Don't bother."
Scar-face waved.
"That was smoke."
"The real trap…"
"…is the floor under your feet."
BOOOOM—!
The floor exploded.
A massive magic circle flared—blinding blue.
That wasn't a normal trap.
It was a spatial transfer magic circle.
"Welcome to our private arena, 'Senji Muramasa.'"
Dix's voice crackled through the comm line, hoarse with manic joy.
That Level 5 trapmaster was watching from somewhere safe.
"Enjoy being swarmed by Level 4s and Level 5s!"
"In that arena, only death ends the match!"
In that instant, Shirou realized the real betrayal.
Not Lili.
Not any supporter.
But Finn and Loki—
or rather, the Guild—
had used him as bait to flush out the Dark Faction's upper layer.
It was for the bigger picture.
But the feeling of being treated like a consumable piece—
lit fury in his chest.
"Damn it…"
"Used as disposable bait?"
Shirou clenched his teeth and scooped Haruhime into his arms.
His circuits surged into overload.
"Trace—On! Steel is my body!"
He couldn't let Haruhime be taken.
If it was a trap—
then he'd break it with the most violent method available.
"Run? Dream on!"
Scar-face and two Level 4s attacked together.
Black curved blade, spear thrusts, and magic arrows formed an airtight kill-net.
Shirou knew the math:
With his current condition, if he tried to tank a Level 4 swarm—even with reinforcement—
he wouldn't last three seconds.
He was just about to throw his remaining high-mana projections to trigger an explosion and buy time—
when—
HMMMM—
A wind pressure descended from the ceiling—
sharper, purer, colder than even Scar-face.
"What?!"
Everyone was forced back by the sudden force.
A golden wind-blade severed the chandelier chain.
A massive crystal fixture crashed down—
smashing directly into the mage who was mid-chant.
This wasn't "justice falling from the sky."
This was a perfectly timed hidden-event trigger.
A golden figure landed lightly between Shirou and Scar-face.
"…Ais?"
Shirou's pupils constricted in shock.
Ais Wallenstein—plain clothes, maskless—
holding her signature Despair Sword.
She didn't look at anyone else.
Her eyes were fixed only on the criminals attacking Shirou.
"My…"
Ais spoke softly.
But the authority in her voice was absolute.
"…training target."
"…is not to be touched."
Scar-face broke into cold sweat.
"The Sword Princess?! Loki Familia's—?!"
Level 6 pressure alone was enough to make everyone below Level 4 instinctively tremble.
They thought they'd caught a fish in a jar.
Instead, they'd hauled up a dragon.
"Trace—On."
Shirou understood immediately.
This wasn't coincidence.
This was the emergency rescue—an actual hidden boss drop.
He set Haruhime down in the corner, protected her with a projected wire-mesh barrier, and in the next instant the black-and-white twin blades appeared in his hands.
"Ais! I'll handle suppression and control!"
"You break through head-on!"
"Watch Scar-face—he's Level 5!"
"Mm."
Ais answered with one syllable—and became a streak of golden lightning.
Skill activated.
A green cyclone wrapped around her blade.
With Shirou's precise fire support, Ais's attacks became even more lethal.
No hesitation.
No restraint.
Her swordplay turned into an art of exact, fatal lines.
One drew fire.
One harvested.
One created advantage through "concept."
One ended the fight through "divine technique."
In this narrow corridor, their temporary duo erupted with combat power far beyond the sum of their levels.
"Don't underestimate us, trash!"
Shirou roared and hurled Kanshou hard—smashing a Level 4's knee with perfect accuracy.
Every throw sealed off routes that could threaten Ais from behind.
This wasn't normal teamwork anymore.
This was approaching mind-link territory.
Scar-face's Level 5 strength was terrifying—
but in front of Ais's Level 6 sword skill, he could only defend.
And every time he tried to counterattack—
Shirou's projected arrows or sleeve-daggers would nail his arm joints precisely, forcing him to pull back.
"Damn it!"
"That support guy—he's too annoying!"
Finn's Inner Monologue (Off-Site)
Twilight Manor.
Finn listened to the chaos through the comm line.
His thumb was shaking like it wanted to fly off his hand.
"Ais intervened?!"
"And Emiya is commanding a Level 6 fight?!"
"This isn't infiltration!"
"This is a high-difficulty two-player raid instance!"
"And their synergy—this is basically married-couple coordination!"
"…Forget it."
"Ais's safety first."
"Bete, move NOW to Amethyst House—support Ais!"
"Notify Riveria: prepare top-tier magic. Await my command!"
Finn pinched the bridge of his nose.
Absolutely helpless.
Absolutely exhausted.
And absolutely aware that his "quiet rescue mission" had turned into something wildly out of control.
....
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