Babel — The Very Top Floor
At the peak of Babel Tower, the air was thin—closer to the sky, closer to "divinity."
Oxygen was scarce.
Divine pressure was dense.
A normal person would probably faint just from standing here—half from hypoxia, half from the weight of godhood grinding against their mind.
This was the headquarters of the Freya Familia:
Folkvangr.
And right now, the goddess who commanded Orario's strongest military force—Freya—was lounging on a velvet couch, swirling a goblet of crimson divine wine.
Her silver eyes—galaxy-deep—looked out through a giant window over the city below.
Or rather…
She had activated long-range voyeur mode, locking onto one particular soul in the city—
the newly promoted Level 3, red-haired boy.
"Level 3… 'Senji Muramasa,' is it?"
Freya murmured softly, the corner of her lips curling into a smile that could intoxicate—
and chill the spine at the same time.
"Fast growth."
"And your soul shines even purer now."
"It's the luster of steel tempered in fire—an absolute jewel even at the gods' banquets."
"Compared to that pure-white, transparent little rabbit…"
(…who, in this timeline, was apparently still farming in the countryside…)
"—a soul like yours, with experience and beautiful scars…"
"…makes me unbearably hungry."
Then—
her tone shifted.
Infatuation became fixation, like a perfectionist staring at a gem that hadn't been polished enough.
"But…"
"Still not enough."
"Not bright enough."
"Not sharp enough."
"In Loki's warm, gentle familia—treated like a treasured pet…"
"Cooking daily, babysitting children…"
"That environment cannot forge a true divine sword."
"It will only blunt you."
"You'll become a dull blade…"
"…a kitchen knife that only chops vegetables."
(Granted, your cooking is excellent.)
She set the wine down and rose.
Her purple gown flowed along the marble like night itself.
Bare feet on cold stone—each step somehow pressing on invisible heartstrings.
"If Loki can't bring herself to do it…"
"Then I will."
"To make him bloom."
"To make him my one and only Odr…"
"Even if it's hell, I will personally pave the road."
"…That's the privilege of being the fan-club leader, after all."
Folkvangr — Deep Underground
Far below, in the familia's forbidden zone, sat a massive underground arena.
Blood smell.
Chaotic mana currents.
Walls scarred by countless blades.
Dark stains soaked into stone—evidence of endless massacres.
Normally this place was where Freya's followers literally slaughtered each other to earn her favor.
But today—
there was only one spectator…
and one special "prisoner."
"ROOOOOOAAAAAR—!!!"
A roar shook the arena.
Violence.
Hatred.
Pure murderous intent.
The sound alone made the protective wards hum and tremble.
In the center, a monster was bound by thick orichalcum chains.
It resembled a Spartoi—a skeletal creature—
but its bones were an ominous dark red, as if soaked in blood for a thousand years.
Its arms had mutated into massive bone-blades.
Its back was a graveyard of spikes—like swords planted into a mound.
And worse than its appearance was its pressure.
This wasn't just a deep-floor monster.
This was bordering on floor-boss territory.
"Ottarl."
Freya stood in the stands, looking down at it like an unfinished art piece.
"Yes."
A figure like an iron tower stepped out of shadow.
Ottarl.
Level 7.
"The Mighty."
Orario's strongest adventurer.
Freya's most loyal warrior.
A man who would tear the world apart if she asked—no hesitation.
And today—
Ottarl had injuries.
Only shallow cuts.
But for him, that fact alone was absurd.
A normal Level 5 couldn't even touch him.
"How is it?" Freya asked.
"Strong. And… growing unusually fast."
Ottarl's gaze stayed fixed on the monster.
"It was retrieved from deep within the 37th Floor's 'White Palace'—a variant."
"After devouring large quantities of high-purity magic stones…"
"And after repeated 'feeding' by our elites…"
(meaning: getting brutally beaten by people like Allen, Hedin, Hogni)
"…it evolved."
"Now, in pure destructive power, it's approaching upper Level 5."
"And…"
Ottarl paused, and a flicker of respect crossed his eyes—warrior to warrior.
"It learned technique."
"Oh?"
Freya's eyes lit up.
"Not just an animal's instincts?"
"Show me."
Freya's smile widened.
"Let me see how much weight the 'gift' I'm sending to that boy truly has."
"As you command."
Ottarl dropped into the arena.
He didn't draw his black sword.
He assumed a bare-handed stance.
The instant he did, the air thickened—Level 7 pressure made the entire underground space shudder.
"Release the chains."
Mechanisms clicked.
The restraints disengaged.
Clank.
Chains hit the floor—
—and the monster vanished.
Not invisibility.
Speed.
Too fast for the eye.
A red lightning streak appeared behind Ottarl, bone-blade carving toward his neck with a pressure that tore the air.
That angle—
that cruelty—
wasn't a beast's pounce.
It was killing swordsmanship.
"…Imitation."
Freya narrowed her eyes.
It was copying Ottarl's movements.
Copying every technique it had witnessed.
Its learning curve was disgusting—
like a cheating "copy ability."
"Hmph."
Ottarl didn't even turn.
A backhand chop hit the side of the bone-blade.
CLANG!
The monster's strike was deflected—
but it didn't stiffen like a normal monster.
It used the recoil to twist midair and drive the other bone-blade like a drill toward Ottarl's heart.
Combo.
Feint.
Prediction.
Adaptation.
The combat IQ was nightmare fuel.
If it had a real sword, it could become a swordmaster.
"Good."
Ottarl's eyes sharpened.
He stopped purely defending.
He countered.
A simple straight punch—
with the weight of a mountain collapse.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Man and monster traded blows.
Bone-blades left pale marks on Ottarl's fists.
Ottarl shattered ribs again and again.
But the terrifying part—
was regeneration.
As long as the core magic stone survived, its bones reconstructed instantly—
harder, sharper—
each rebirth evolving to counter Ottarl's attack patterns.
"Stronger as it fights…"
Freya's smile bloomed, a feverish flush on her cheeks.
She could already see it:
the red-haired boy, bleeding, broken, still standing—
still swinging.
That was her favorite "color."
Her favorite "tragedy."
"Enough, Ottarl."
Freya lifted a hand.
Ottarl withdrew instantly, then kicked the monster into the wall.
The impact embedded it in stone.
He jumped back to the stands.
Mechanisms fired—
chains shot out again, pinning the monster to the wall before it could fully regenerate.
"Grr…"
It glared—empty eye sockets burning with ghostfire—
staring at Freya as if it understood:
she was the true master here.
"Don't look at me like that, child."
Freya gently stroked its bone spikes as if petting a cat.
Beautiful.
And horrifying.
"You weren't born for me."
"You were born for him."
She turned to Ottarl.
"Loki Familia's expedition is tomorrow, yes?"
"Yes."
"Intelligence says their target is the unexplored domain—Floor 59."
"Good."
Freya produced a magic stone glowing with an eerie violet light.
Not a normal stone.
A custom catalyst—containing fragments of divine blessing…
and a trace of that thing (a spirit-like presence).
"Feed this to it."
She tossed it to Ottarl.
"Then drop it onto Loki Familia's path."
"Floor 24? Too shallow."
"The terrain won't restrain it."
"Floor 37…"
"…the White Palace."
"That is where the labyrinth truly begins."
"Let it wait there."
"Waiting for 'Senji Muramasa.'"
"This…"
"…is my first love letter to him."
Her smile turned dangerously sweet—beautiful enough to suffocate, poisonous enough to kill.
A physically heavy kind of love.
"Emiya Shirou."
"If you cross this 'trial'…"
"If you break this 'bone sword'…"
"Then I'll acknowledge…"
"…you're worthy of being loved by me."
"And if you die…"
Her eyes went cold, like ancient ice.
"Then your soul's radiance was only that much."
"A broken toy isn't worth collecting."
Meanwhile — Twilight Manor, Backyard
"Achoo!!"
Shirou sneezed hard while maintaining his weapons.
His back tingled with a chill.
His hammer nearly smashed his own finger.
"What's wrong? A cold?"
"Or… someone thinking about you?"
Liliruca asked, concerned, holding a freshly organized supply checklist—packed with potions and food.
"I don't know why…"
"But I suddenly feel like a gigantic carnivorous predator is staring at me."
"Like… top-tier apex predator hunting."
"Like it's in… breeding season—"
(He erased that thought immediately.)
"My Mind's Eye (True) isn't warning me."
"But my 'male intuition' alarm is ringing like crazy."
"Probably just fatigue."
He forced the unease down and refocused.
What he was making was his new "cheat item" for the expedition:
Using dungeon-drop Obsidian Steel, plus a "hard beast horn" he picked up on Floor 24—
then repeatedly folding and forging it with Projection techniques—
and even having Haruhime add a trace of curse-work—
He named it:
Pseudo–Magic Sword: Zanzan (Igalima – Prototype).
"Not a true god-forged armament…"
"But in hardness and sharpness, it's already beyond first-class equipment."
Shirou gripped the hilt.
The blade was pure black—no ornamentation, only a cold gleam along its edge.
Unlike a Projection "disposable," this was a real, physical sword.
It could endure overload Reinforcement.
And it could even serve as a launch frame for Broken Phantasm—
(though that would be criminally wasteful).
"With this… plus Level 3 stats…"
He swung the greatsword once.
The air tore with a heavy, vicious sound.
"Even if we meet a floor boss…"
"I should be able to fight."
He didn't know it—
but deep in the dungeon, a malice cultivated specifically to kill him—
a terror worse than a floor boss—
was already waiting.
A "trial" signed by a goddess.
A death notice wrapped like a love letter.
"Lord Emiya!"
A familia member ran over.
"Captain Finn wants you—final confirmation of the expedition formation."
"And… arrangements for 'that matter.'"
"Coming."
Shirou sheathed the sword and slung it across his back.
Sunlight fell on him, casting a long shadow.
"Lili, let's go."
"This expedition—your job is heavy."
"Yes!"
"Lili will do her best not to hold everyone back!"
"For money—"
"…No!"
"For Lord Emiya!"
Whatever waited ahead—
monster fangs, divine whims—
the man called Senji Muramasa had already prepared to draw his blade.
After all—
for someone who clawed his way out of a hell like the Holy Grail War…
"trials" were just daily quests.
Even a goddess's love—
if it blocks the road—
gets cut down.
....
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