"This time, it's ten Shirleys." Kanjuro smiled slightly, that smile still gentle, yet more terrifying than any hideous expression. With a wave of his hand, dark magical energy spread like a plague, and this time, a full ten figures of "Shirley" took shape within the workshop.
The most terrifying part was that by digging deep and capturing the fragments of Kiritsugu's memories, Kanjuro had created these Shirley incarnations to be almost indistinguishable from the real thing. It wasn't just their appearance and voice; even the subtle gestures, the habit of pursing her lips when shy, the unique dependence and concern in her eyes when she looked at him... everything was reproduced exactly, a precision replica. They were like living beings truly pulled from the river of time; every look and every breath turned into the sharpest of blades, repeatedly cutting into the softest, most defenseless corners of Kiritsugu's heart.
Kiritsugu's eyes were bloodshot, his pupils trembling violently from the extreme agony. He looked at the ten "Shirleys" surrounding him, his mind in a state of total chaos.
"Kiritsugu, don't you want me anymore?" one "Shirley" spoke timidly, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Kiritsugu? Can you really bear to let me go?" another "Shirley" reached out, wanting to touch him, but pulled back in fear.
"Kiritsugu, I hate you! It's all your fault! If it weren't for you..." yet another "Shirley" suddenly became emotional, her face contorted in agony as if repeating her dying accusations.
These repeated calls, like a key, suddenly threw open the gates of memory that Emiya Kiritsugu had deliberately sealed—that unforgettable day of nightmares! Because of Shirley's curiosity and playfulness, she had unintentionally stumbled into her father's forbidden magecraft Workshop, like opening Pandora's box, releasing countless hideous Ghouls! The entire island was instantly transformed into a purgatory. Familiar neighbors, innocent villagers, and even his already insane... father, all perished in that disaster! And Shirley, his most important girl, finally fell in a pool of blood, those once clear eyes losing all their luster... It was him! It was his family, his bloodline, that had indirectly killed her, killed everyone!
Emiya Kiritsugu looked at the ten lifelike "Shirleys" before him, as if they were silently accusing him. A massive sense of guilt and the pain of memory overwhelmed him like a tsunami. He covered his eyes in agony, his body curling up until he was almost kneeling on the ground, his throat letting out suppressed, beast-like whimpers.
"It's your turn to choose, Kiritsugu." Kanjuro's voice, like a cold viper, slithered into his ears again, forcibly pulling him back from the brink of collapse to this cruel reality.
"Shirley dies!!!" Emiya Kiritsugu suddenly looked up and let out a heart-wrenching roar, his voice broken and filled with a self-destructive resolve. Tears mixed with the cold sweat bursting from his forehead, sliding down his contorted face.
"There are ten chances. Right now... it's not enough." Kanjuro grinned hideously, as if enjoying a play reaching its climax. He waved his hand again.
This time, it was twenty "Shirleys"! They crowded into a corner of the Workshop, their whispers, sobs, and questioning voices intertwining to form a scalp-tingling chorus.
"Shirley dies!!" Emiya Kiritsugu shouted with almost his entire life force.
Next, it was fifty! A hundred!
The entire Workshop was almost filled with the figures of "Shirley"! They wore various dresses, their expressions sad, angry, lost, or lingering... like nightmares manifesting from Emiya Kiritsugu's broken heart. They stood there quietly, hundreds of eyes staring in unison at the man on the verge of collapse in the center.
This eerie and terrifying scene made Artoria and Irisviel feel a suffocating dread. Even the children who had been brought there stopped crying out of fear, leaving only suppressed sobs and trembling terror.
"Shirley... I..." Emiya Kiritsugu looked at these hundreds of "Shirleys," his mind at its breaking point. He opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something.
However, at the moment before he could finish—
Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!... A series of muffled sounds of sharp blades piercing flesh suddenly erupted!
The ten innocent children standing at the very front didn't even have time to scream before their bodies were crushed as if by an invisible force, instantly turning into a pool of blurred flesh and blood! Warm blood and shattered internal organs sprayed out, staining the cold floor red and splashing onto the other nearby children and the "Shirleys."
Screams—this time the purest and most shrill screams of terror from the surviving children—instantly filled the entire space!
"Not enough, far from enough." Kanjuro didn't even blink, as if he had just swatted a few insects. He turned to Jeanne, whose face was slightly pale, his tone casual as if ordering a servant to prepare tea:
"Jeanne, go find a hundred children. The 'materials' here aren't quite enough."
Jeanne's body stiffened imperceptibly. She looked at the ten small, still-warm corpses on the ground, the blood splattered everywhere, and then at Kanjuro's calm, even slightly bored profile. An unprecedented chill, like cold vines, instantly wrapped around her heart and tightened.
(So cruel...)
Even she, who had seen the cruelty of the battlefield and experienced the searing pain of being burned at the stake, felt a deep, lingering fear at Kanjuro's extreme indifference, treating life like grass and cruelty as ordinary.
He wasn't acting out of anger or hatred, but purely for a twisted "experiment" or "game," he could so easily take lives on a large scale. This purity of "evil" that transcended all morality, ethics, and even common understanding, while making her feel fear, also stimulated the morbid curiosity and desire to investigate deep within her to its peak.
She gave Kanjuro a deep, complex look, and finally nodded, her figure turning into a stream of light and disappearing again.
Inside the Workshop, the smell of blood was sickeningly thick. Hundreds of "Shirleys" stood silently in the pool of blood, while the surviving children huddled in a corner, trembling and weeping. Emiya Kiritsugu collapsed on the ground, staring blankly at the ten small corpses, as if his soul had been pulled away along with each "Shirley dies" and the tragedy before him.
Kanjuro stood in the center of the blood, like a deity in charge of death and despair, elegantly wiping non-existent dust from his fingertips, waiting for the arrival of the next batch of "chips."
This game called "The Price of Justice" was sliding toward the deepest, irrecoverable abyss of darkness at a speed beyond anyone's imagination.
The ordeal progressed in a suffocating cycle. The second time, the third time... the fifth time... Each time, the number of children increased, and the number of Shirley phantoms grew at an even more staggering rate. Emiya Kiritsugu was like a programmed machine; after the initial collapse and struggle, his eyes gradually became hollow, and his roars of "Shirley dies" became numb and mechanical. Blood had long since soaked the Workshop floor, the heavy smell of rust and the intermittent sobbing of children forming the backdrop of hell.
The ninth time.
When Jeanne silently brought five hundred terrified children, and when Kanjuro casually waved his hand, letting a full thousand "Shirley" phantoms fill every inch of space like a pale forest, the entire scene had surpassed common understanding of horror.
Emiya Kiritsugu looked at the dense, identical phantoms of the girl and the five hundred innocent children huddled together and trembling. He suddenly burst into loud laughter. The laughter was hoarse, frenzied, and filled with a certain twisted sense of relief.
"Haha... hahaha... It's all fake! All of it is fake!" He pointed at the thousand Shirleys, his eyes glazed, his mouth pulled into an ugly grin. "It's just illusions you created with magical energy! No matter how similar, they aren't real! I understand... I've understood for a long time! No matter how many times it's repeated, there's only one answer!"
He abruptly stopped laughing, his face wearing a near-pathological "enlightenment," and roared with all his might:
"Shirley dies—!!!"
The voice echoed in the empty Workshop, decisive and without a hint of hesitation.
Kanjuro raised an eyebrow, seemingly unsurprised by his reaction. He elegantly snapped his fingers.
Snap—!
Like countless candles blown out by the wind, those thousand lifelike Shirley phantoms vanished and dissipated silently at the same moment, leaving not a trace behind. The massive Workshop instantly became much emptier, leaving only the five hundred terrified children and the lingering smell of blood.
Artoria's tense nerves relaxed slightly, and Irisviel subconsciously clutched her chest, letting out a long sigh of relief. Even in Jeanne's usually calm eyes, a flicker of emotion passed. After nine rounds of such cruel trials, Emiya Kiritsugu seemed to have truly held onto his cold "justice" at the cost of completely extinguishing the softness in his heart. Could it be... this nightmare was finally ending?
"A truly wonderful performance, Kiritsugu." Kanjuro clapped lightly, a smile of admiration on his face, but deep within that smile lay something even deeper and more unsettling. "Your rationality, your decisiveness, indeed surpass the limits of ordinary people. For the 'many,' you can sacrifice the 'few' time and again without hesitation, even if that 'few' is the pillar of your soul."
He changed the subject, his voice becoming low and full of temptation:
"But, the trial... is not over yet. This is the last time."
He raised his hand again, dark magical energy condensing in his palm. But this time, the light did not spread widely; it was highly concentrated, as if carving a unique work of art.
The light faded, and a figure slowly emerged.
It was no longer the teenage Shirley.
It was a fully mature woman in her early twenties. She possessed the same soft features from her youth, but the greenness had faded, replaced by elegance and charm. Her long brown hair cascaded down to her waist like a waterfall, and her eyes were still a clear brown, but with a bit more calm and intelligent light. Her features were exquisite, forming a moving face that could take one's breath away. She wore a simple, elegant long dress, her figure graceful, standing there quietly as if time had sculpted her into the most perfect form.
Adult Shirley.
However, what made everyone's hearts, especially Emiya Kiritsugu's, stop was—
After this adult Shirley appeared, she didn't even look at Emiya Kiritsugu. She lowered her head slightly and walked toward Kanjuro with light, submissive steps. Then, like the most devout believer, she slowly knelt on the ground and said clearly in her mature and gentle voice:
"Master."
A smile appeared on Kanjuro's face that was extremely gentle yet pierced the heart more than any hideous expression. He reached out and naturally put his arm around adult Shirley's slender waist, pulling her delicate body tightly into his embrace. Shirley snuggled against him obediently, a blush of happiness and dependence even appearing on her face, as if she had cast herself into the safest harbor in the world.
"Now," Kanjuro's gaze bypassed the nearly petrified Emiya Kiritsugu, his voice soft as if whispering sweet nothings, yet the content was cruel to the extreme, "choose, Kiritsugu."
He lowered his head and planted a light kiss on Shirley's smooth forehead, then looked up at Emiya Kiritsugu's instantly crumbling expression and said slowly:
"Do you choose to let this Shirley, who loves me deeply and regards me as her master, die..."
He paused deliberately, enjoying the stormy waves surging in Emiya Kiritsugu's eyes, before throwing out the most malicious option:
"...or do you choose to let these five hundred children die?"
He tilted his head slightly, kissed the corner of adult Shirley's slightly upturned, smiling mouth, and added, his voice filled with demonic temptation:
"Remember, if you choose to let the children die... this complete, mature Shirley who belongs only to me can... be with you forever. You can have her, accompany her, and make up for all your regrets."
"Exchange the lives of five hundred stranger children for the living Shirley you've always dreamed of."
Thud—!
Emiya Kiritsugu's knees buckled, and he knelt heavily in the thick pool of blood. All the psychological defenses he had built with his iron will collapsed at this moment, along with the image of the adult Shirley kneeling in his enemy's arms with a happy face.
He looked up at the face he had missed day and night, now presented in the most cruel way, looking at her submissive appearance in Kanjuro's arms. A rattling gasp like a broken bellows came from his throat, and he couldn't utter a single complete word.
Artoria and Irisviel's hearts, which had just been put at ease, instantly sank into an ice cellar. They realized that Kanjuro's final blow was far more lethal than the thousands of previous erasures.
Kanjuro gently stroked Shirley's hair, like fondling a precious collectible, waiting for Emiya Kiritsugu to make the final choice between ultimate selfish desire and twisted "justice," a choice that would inevitably lead to despair.
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