Orario — Hephaistos Familia Headquarters, Underground Level N: The Primordial Flame Workshop.
The temperature down here was so absurdly high that ordinary fire-attribute magic stones would detonate on their own. The air shimmered like a heat-hazed dance, and every breath felt like swallowing molten lava.
Emiya Shirou stood bare-chested before the massive furnace. His skin had been baked to a bronze sheen; sweat flashed to steam the instant it seeped from his pores, leaving only a faint crust of salt behind. His right hand—an artificial limb fused with dragonbone and divinity—now glowed with a white-gold brilliance even brighter than the forge fire itself.
"Still going, kid?" Tsubaki Collbrande stood beyond the safety line, gripping a huge mithril plate used for recording data. In her single eye, worry and exhilaration tangled together. "Your true Tsumukari Muramasa is already finished. But you're clearly not satisfied with a cursed blade that cuts fate. What you're trying to project now…"
She swallowed.
"…It's that, isn't it?"
That thing—inside this workshop, the phrase itself carried the weight of taboo. It was Shirou's trump card from the fifty-ninth floor, the one he'd used to blast away a fairy's avatar… and the reason he'd nearly scrapped himself into unusable parts.
"…Yeah." Shirou's voice was hoarse, but his gaze was frighteningly clear. "Tsumukari Muramasa is powerful, but it's specialized for gods. If what we suspect exists beneath the sixtieth floor is real—something older than the gods… then I need a sword that doesn't just sever causality."
He exhaled slowly.
"I need something that can illuminate everything."
He closed his eyes. In his mind appeared a golden plain… and the distant silhouette of someone he could never quite reach. The origin of his magecraft. His eternal utopia.
"I'm going to fully analyze it. No half-baked projections. No partial releases that blow me into next week. In this world—using this body—I'm going to make a real…"
His eyelids lifted.
"…Holy Sword of the Stars."
"Maniac." Tsubaki let out a long sigh, then grinned wide enough to show teeth. "But I like maniacs. Come on, then—let's see if you can burn a hole straight through the laws of physics."
"Let's begin."
Shirou extended his right hand and grasped at empty air.
Inside his body, the twenty-seven magic circuits—rebuilt, reinforced, and mutated through countless near-deaths—roared like an engine pushed past redline. Mana no longer flowed.
It detonated.
"Trace—Start."
Space began to tremble—not a simple shake, but the way paper warps when it's pulled too hard, creasing in visible folds.
Analyze the concept of creation.It is the planet's prayer.It is mankind's hope.Assume the fundamental framework.Not common metal—light crystallized from belief.Replicate the materials… impossible—no. Fill the missing parts with my bone, my blood, my soul.
"Ghh…!"
Shirou's groan sounded like something being torn from deep inside. His right arm began to crack. Even a dragonbone-rebuilt prosthesis looked fragile before a divine armament whose scale didn't belong in the world. Golden fissures crawled up his arm as if it might shatter like glass at any moment.
"So this is… the weight of a holy sword…"
Blood slid from the corner of his mouth. He clenched his teeth until they threatened to break.
"But I… can still hold it."
"Skill—Limit Break!" he forced out. "Mystery—Full Output!"
"Show yourself…!"
A blinding gold burst erupted at the center of the workshop. The light was so intense that even Tsubaki had to squeeze her eyes shut and activate her forging-eye protection. The entire Babel Tower seemed to quiver.
Within the radiance, the outline of a sword took shape—hilt, guard, blade. Still semi-transparent, still not fully real… but the aura had descended all the same: holy, solemn, and so pure it felt like it could cleanse every stain the world had ever known.
Excalibur — Oath of Victory (Concept Armament).
"It worked?!" Tsubaki shouted, giddy.
Then—
The instant the blade stabilized—
Something went wrong.
Crack.
A crisp, glasslike fracture.
It wasn't the sword.
It was the space behind Shirou.
Like a mirror struck by a pebble, reality split open into a yawning black fissure. But from that crack came no monster's howl—only an ancient, desolate wind… carrying, impossibly, the scent of earth and grass.
"…A spacetime fault?!" Tsubaki's face drained. "Stop! Shirou! The mana density is collapsing the coordinates!"
"I—can't stop!" Shirou realized in horror. The holy sword in his grasp had become a massive black hole, greedily consuming everything—mana, air, and even… time.
Between him and the sword formed a strange resonance, like two powerful magnets locked together. And that resonance was tearing the present world's anchor loose.
"Damn…" Shirou stared at the rapidly expanding void, dread flashing through him.
So this is… the legendary flag collection, huh? I knew it. Trying high-risk experiments in another world never ends well.
"Shirou!" Tsubaki lunged forward—but an enormous repulsive force blasted her back.
"Sorry, Tsubaki." Shirou managed a helpless, crooked smile. "Tell Ais and the others…"
"…Dinner's probably going to be late."
The next second, the gold light and the black fissure collapsed inward at the same time.
Whoosh.
Emiya Shirou—along with the unfinished holy sword—vanished.
All that remained was an empty workshop… and a stunned Tsubaki, still clutching the data plate.
"…I'm dead." Tsubaki sank to the floor. "Not only did I lose him, now I have to face Loki Familia's women when they find out."
"My life…"
"…is about to hit Game Over."
So loud.
That was Shirou's first thought when consciousness returned.
Roars. Trees snapping. And one voice—screaming with the raw tragedy of someone about to be turned into minced meat.
"Help—!! Somebody help me!! I'm going to get eaten!! If this handsome face gets bitten up, the whole world will weep!!"
That line… sounds painfully familiar.
Shirou pried his eyes open.
A dense, primeval forest stretched in every direction—trees so gigantic they looked centuries old, each trunk like an ancient monument. The air didn't carry the dungeon's damp stench; it was fresh with soil and greenery. The sky was a clean, endless blue—no Babel Tower shadow, no man-made labyrinth's suffocating pressure.
"Where the hell did I get blown to…?"
He rubbed his head and sat up. His body was surprisingly intact—just completely drained again. The bandages on his right arm were gone, revealing the white-gold prosthesis gleaming warmly under the sun.
"And the sword?"
He looked around. No sign of Excalibur. Maybe the projection failed. Maybe it was trapped in the spacetime crack.
Either way, there was a more urgent issue.
"That guy screaming…"
Shirou stood. Weak as he was, his body moved before his brain could argue.
If someone's yelling for help—especially with that kind of dramatic flair—I'm going to check.
"Let's see what's going on," he muttered. "Hopefully I run into an NPC who can tell me what map I'm on."
A forest clearing.
A massive black-furred boar—no, a beast far nastier than any boar—was charging through the clearing in a frenzy.
Calydonian Boar.
It was chasing a figure ahead of it who was tumbling and scrambling like his life depended on it—because it did.
The runner wore a ridiculous white clown outfit, a feathered cap on his head, and carried a broken wooden sword. His running form was pure disaster. He kept looking back and making faces, as if "emotional damage" might stop a charging monster.
"Stupid pig! Come catch me! If you catch me I'll—hehe—!"
His foot slipped. He faceplanted.
"GRAAAAH!" The boar roared in delight, tusks lining up neatly with his backside.
"I'm finished! My heroic legend is over before it even starts! Am I about to become 'That Time I Reincarnated as Boar Feed'?!"
He squeezed his eyes shut and wailed.
CLANG!
A crisp metal impact rang out.
No pain.
The "clown" peeked one eye open.
A red-haired boy stood between him and the boar, holding two strange black-and-white short blades that had locked the tusks in place. The boy's back wasn't broad, but in that moment it looked impossibly huge—like it came with built-in holy light effects.
"…You okay?" Shirou glanced back, forcing a strained smile. "That thing looks delicious, but I'm guessing you'd rather not be its appetizer."
"A hero?!" The clown froze—then his eyes exploded with light. "A real hero! And he's red-haired! Is this destiny?! Is this our fated encounter?!"
"Stop staring—run!" Shirou kicked the boar's head aside and grabbed the clown's arm, hauling him into motion. With his mana tank empty, trying to brute-force a thick-skinned beast was suicidal.
"Run?" the clown shrieked while being dragged along. "Why run?! When a hero appears, isn't this when you fire a one-shot ultimate and vaporize it—like in the storybooks?!"
"Read fewer storybooks!" Shirou snapped. "Reality's brutal! My MP bar's empty! And I don't even know who you are!"
"I'm Argo! The future great hero—Argo!" the clown declared at maximum volume, utterly lacking the humility of someone who was just saved. "And you, red-haired bro? Name? Familia? Background?!"
"Emiya Shirou," Shirou said, panting, glancing over his shoulder at the pursuing boar. "And… I'm probably a chef who got lost."
"A chef?!" Argo looked personally betrayed by the universe. "Chefs can fight like this now?! Are you the legendary reincarnation of the God of Cooking?!"
"Less talking!" Shirou saw the drop ahead. "Cliff!"
They skidded to a stop at the edge of a sheer ravine.
No path.
Shirou exhaled once, hard, then turned to face the boar.
If escape was sealed, then they had to fight. He didn't have mana, but he still had technique.
"Argo!" Shirou barked. "Can you use a sword?"
"…A little?" Argo raised his broken wooden sword. His hands were shaking so hard it looked like the blade was vibrating.
"Good enough."
Shirou drew a breath.
"Trace On."
He didn't project a Noble Phantasm.
He used his last remaining mana to coat Argo's broken sword with reinforcement.
Reinforcement.
The shabby wood hardened like iron, and a faint glow rolled across its surface.
"Listen," Shirou said, pointing at the charging boar. "Its weak point is under the neck where the white fur is. I'll stop the charge. You strike there."
"You get one chance."
He stared Argo down.
"Can you do it?"
"I—I can't!" Argo's legs wobbled. "I'm just a clown who wants to be a hero! I can't even kill a chicken!"
"You want to be a hero?" Shirou's eyes sharpened.
"Then prove it."
"Heroes aren't made by talking. They're made by acting."
"If you run now, you'll be a clown for the rest of your life."
He stepped forward, crossing his twin blades before the boar like a gate.
"But if you swing…"
His voice lowered, steady as steel.
"Then you're a hero."
"Even if it's only for one second."
The boar slammed in—
BOOM!
Shirou was driven backward, boots carving trenches into the earth. Blood slipped from his mouth. But he locked the tusks in place and refused to give a single step.
"NOW! ARGO!" Shirou roared.
"AaaaaAAAAAA—!!"
Argo screamed so high it nearly broke, eyes squeezed shut, and somehow—somewhere—found the courage. He raised the glowing wooden blade and drove it down with everything he had.
"PLEASE HIT! MY HERO DREAM—!!"
THUNK—!
The reinforced wooden sword pierced cleanly into the weak point.
The stance was awful.
The screaming was embarrassing.
But the result was perfect.
The boar gave a strangled, dying cry and crashed to the ground like a toppled boulder.
"…I won?" Argo collapsed onto his butt, staring at the broken sword like it belonged to someone else. "I… I killed a monster? I really… did it?"
"Good job." Shirou wiped the blood from his mouth and patted Argo's shoulder. "That thrust had bite."
"Heh… hehehe…" Argo grinned so hard he nearly cried, a bubble of snot forming at his nose. "I knew it! Destiny chose me! Emiya Shirou, did you see that?! My strike was thunder itself! Lightning and doom!"
"Yeah, yeah—lightning and doom." Shirou sighed, helplessly amused.
This guy's personality feels suspiciously similar to a certain blond idiot…
But as Shirou scanned the forest, his thoughts cooled.
This forest. This kind of beast. And this name—
Argo.
If his memory wasn't lying to him…
Argonaut.
The "first hero" of this world's mythic era—the man who authored The Tale of Argonaut, celebrated for millennia… even if half the city treated it like a running joke.
Which meant—
Shirou looked up at the sky.
No divine gaze.
No godly pressure.
Only raw, untamed nature.
"…Did I just time-slip into the era before the gods?" he murmured. "The so-called Ancient Times?"
Inside, he screamed at the universe.
System. You have got to be kidding me. I wanted a level-up, not an open-world survival run. And this isn't even hard mode—this is 'no tutorial, no starter village' hell difficulty.
"Hey, Shirou-bro?" Argo leaned in with eyes shining like a child meeting his idol. "That move where you made blades appear—so cool! Teach me! In exchange, you can join my 'Argonaut Hero Company'! It's only me right now, but I'm going to be the world's number one!"
"Hero Company, huh…" Shirou looked at the boy—weak, ridiculous, and painfully loud—yet with eyes full of dreams.
It reminded him, uncomfortably, of a younger self who used to shout about becoming a "hero of justice."
…An invitation that was hard to refuse.
"Fine." Shirou sighed and extended a hand. "I'm lost anyway. Until I find a way back… I'll play along with your hero game."
"YES!" Argo seized his hand and hopped in place. "First member! And he's a strong red-haired swordsman! Our legend starts here!"
"Before your legend starts," Shirou pointed at the boar's corpse, "can we roast that thing?"
"I'm starving."
Argo's eyes lit up. "Roast whole boar?! I'm in!"
And so, in a primeval forest of the mythic age—
Emiya Shirou, future "hero of justice" (part-time chef),and Argo, future "first hero" (part-time clown),
sat around a campfire, tearing into roasted meat, beginning an adventure that was destined to be etched into history—
…or into someone's collection of hilarious legends.
"This is incredible!" Argo said through a mouthful of grease. "Shirou-bro, you really are a cooking god! This tastes better than palace food!"
"It's decent," Shirou said, biting into the meat while staring at the starry sky.
His smile softened.
I wonder how Ais and the others are doing… I vanished without warning. They must be losing their minds.
"Don't worry!" Argo slapped his chest. "I don't know who you're worried about, but if you're a hero, you'll get a happy ending! Just like in the books!"
"A happy ending, huh…" Shirou chuckled.
"Yeah. As long as you don't give up. As long as you keep moving forward… you'll reach it eventually."
His gaze dropped to his glowing right hand.
"But before that…"
"It looks like I'll need to hone this 'sword' properly… in this era."
Meanwhile, deep within the forest—
In the ruins of a vast palace built from white marble—
A golden-haired girl in a pure white dress sat silently upon a throne. Her eyes were empty, as if her soul had been drained away.
At her side coiled a massive horned beast—an ancient, terrifying Minotaur.
"Princess…" a cold voice whispered from the shadows. "A new 'toy' has appeared."
"That red radiance…"
"It seems capable of severing fate."
The girl didn't answer.
Slowly, she lifted her head and looked toward the forest.
For the first time, a faint ripple stirred in those golden eyes—
Something like hope.
"…A hero?" she whispered.
In an age with no gods—only monsters and darkness—
the meeting of two shooting stars was about to ignite a fire called myth.
....
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