As Emiya charged to snipe Odin's "Heroic Spirit Army," Zero suddenly received some kind of order. She ran out into the rain, returning moments later with a red-haired girl in her arms—and promptly injected her with a serum.
"Who's this?" Wazhu asked, staring suspiciously at the wounded red-haired girl Zero had retrieved. Was she related to Shirou? A long-lost sibling?
"She's our inside agent in the Chen household," Jōde Mai shrugged. "She needed a bloodline lock serum. The Chen family was experimenting on humans—she was one of their main test subjects. She knows all their dirty secrets. She's a living witness."
Wazhu's eyes lit up. "Good, good! Zhou Yuxuan, get a doctor and some help. Make sure this girl gets treated immediately."
"Yes, ma'am."
Then Wazhu sent more reinforcements to aid Emiya in fighting back the incoming "Heroic Spirits." In between, she questioned Jōde Mai: did she know what these enemies were? Were they tied to that Odin?
Jōde Mai slowly pulled two divine blades from her toolkit: Futsunomitama and Ame-no-Habakiri.
"Who knows? Personally, I'd guess they're connected. We just took out one of their puppets—it'd be weird if they didn't respond. What's your opinion, Wazhu-sama?"
Wazhu flicked the Dragon Severing Altar. A deep dragon's roar echoed from within.
"Me? I'll just say one thing: Western Secret Party, you've crossed the line."
Shing!
Half of the bronze sword unsheathed, and the rain itself seemed to halt.
Jōde Mai watched in awe as elemental energy visibly surged from all directions, coalescing into a massive, swirling current.
Wazhu chanted ancient scripture and raised the Dragon Severing Altar high. Her serpent tail swayed with elegance, stirring the flood like a dragon's tail.
"Chiku!"
With a single command, the vast vortex of water channeled through the blade. Spiraling sword aura rose into the sky, manifesting as a majestic water dragon.
The dragon roared low. The rain fell harder.
The long serpentine current surged through the bullet-filled warzone, dispersing the downpour and crashing into the advancing undead shadows.
These so-called "Heroic Spirits" were nothing more than weak wraiths, helpless in the flood. Their tattered cloaks were torn away. Brittle corpses were shredded by hidden sword auras within the torrent.
Like a dark meat grinder of death.
But the dragon's force eventually waned. Yet still, the undead emerged from the shadows—drawn through distant space via alchemical rituals, like revenants returning from the land of the dead.
BOOM!
One of Emiya's pseudo-Noble Phantasms detonated again. The Gensō Hōkai (Phantasm Collapse) exploded, driving back the dark and incinerating their remains.
Rain sizzled into steam. Despite poor visibility, Emiya's enhanced sight caught more silhouettes.
The undead muttered in ancient tongues:
"New blood… it's been so long."
"So many living scents. Delicious."
"So thirsty… blood, I want fresh blood."
Emiya wasn't a master of magecraft, but he could tell—these were possessed corpses, driven by spirits hungry for the living. Necromancy, a subset of Kōrei-jutsu (Spirit Descent Techniques).
But how many had they prepared? Killing them endlessly was meaningless. They had to slay the summoner.
What? Just because Odin's name was slapped on them, these were "Heroic Spirits"? Please. Emiya looked at these lesser ghouls—worse than Kage Follower—and found the label laughable.
He opened a new sword bag. The heavy black scabbard of Shichizai (Seven Deadly Sins) hovered in the air. As he touched it, all seven blades within hummed.
Emiya drew the Han-Happō Chokutō "Gōman" (Straight Sword of Arrogance) and Tachi "Shittoku" (Great Blade of Envy). These conceptual weapons flared into their true forms.
Infused with mana, the short blades grew—turning into massive swords and broad tachi. Jagged barbs lined their edges, like the fangs of a beast.
In wind and rain, the conceptual armaments sang—a whispering chorus of eager violence.
With a sweep of both arms, Emiya's sword aura carved through the storm. Transparent arcs sliced down several undead lurking in the shadows. Black blood and rotted limbs flew.
These blades felt completely different from Taia's—Emiya stepped forward with precision. His slashes carved a path toward the ever-growing abyss of death.
Some undead carried ancient weapons: hand-and-a-half swords, Roman gladii, Viking axes, Swiss halberds… All museum pieces—yet now wielded in deadly earnest, as if they never died.
CLANG!
Emiya parried a long saber with Gōman, then Shittoku's razor arc cleaved the attacker clean in half.
Slash!
Out of the corner of his eye, Emiya saw Jōde Mai dual-wielding top-grade Japanese blades, slicing undead like fruit. Dressed in her dark combat suit, her aura had shifted—cold, inhuman.
"We're here to clear your path!"
Having used Ancient Dragon Serum, Jōde Mai's voice was low, almost a growl. The boss-gifted Futsunomitama and Ame-no-Habakiri gleamed with master craftsmanship—equal to even the Seven Deadly Sins.
This ninja goddess became a radiant blade in motion. Her swords traced arcs of silver in the rain, slashing through hordes. Emiya found himself comforted—by the beauty of her back, her long legs, and her swaying ponytail.
Joining next was the petite Arctic Princess. Zero spread her Muchi no Chiiki (Dustless Domain). The undead fired arrows from stolen shortbows, but she twirled like a ballerina. The barrier deflected every shot with elegant spins.
Zero flanked Emiya, wielding looted daggers and spears. With two quick thrusts, she dispatched would-be assassins.
She was his shield. Jōde Mai was the sword.
Together, the three pressed through the ocean of death—
—until they saw Odin's throne.
(End of Chapter)
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