The flash of a silver blade filled Shirou's vision the instant he stepped through the door.
There was no hesitation, no mercy—only the pure intent to sever his head in one swift stroke.
"Haa—"
Hot breath exhaled rhythmically from Shirou's mouth.
As the blade was mere inches from his throat, his knees buckled forward, his body following gravity backward, head swiftly arching upward.
Swish!
The silver edge swept harmlessly past his eyes.
But the danger wasn't over.
"Die—!"
Another fierce shout erupted beside him.
In the blink of an eye, a severed head flew past Shirou, blood gushing like a fountain from the fallen warrior's neck.
The very man who had nearly decapitated Shirou moments ago had himself been swiftly beheaded by someone else.
The culprit was an enormous, blood-red cleaver, dripping crimson and radiating a sinister aura.
Whoosh—!
Before Shirou could even recover from the shock, the scarlet cleaver swung toward him, trailing a freezing gust.
Clang!
At the last possible second, Shirou's ordinary-looking Nichirin Blade appeared at his throat, deflecting the strike.
"Die—!"
The attacker—a ferocious young man clad in thick animal hides—lunged again, raising his brutal cleaver overhead for a second strike.
The blade embedded itself deep into the snow as Shirou quickly rolled aside, instinctively kicking out and sending his assailant sprawling to the ground.
Thud!
But before Shirou could respond further, a sickening squelch sounded again. Another warrior, wielding a longsword, plunged his blade straight through the fallen man's skull, killing him instantly.
The swordsman turned abruptly, locking eyes with Shirou, who was only now rising to his feet.
"Die—!"
The warrior charged wildly toward him, blade poised for attack.
Shirou, still dazed, had no choice but to raise his Nichirin Blade in defense.
But—
Thunk!
A crude wooden arrow abruptly pierced the charging man's skull, dropping him lifelessly before he even reached Shirou.
The rapid, unending deaths around him shook Shirou deeply.
This wasn't the first time he'd witnessed death, nor even the first time he'd seen such carnage.
Yet, faced with this gruesome scene, Shirou was overwhelmed by an intense sense of confusion and helplessness.
Finally, Shirou lifted his gaze, fully taking in the chaos surrounding him.
"Kill—!"
Squelch! Splurt!
The furious roars, the slicing of flesh, and spurting blood combined into a grotesque symphony echoing ceaselessly around him.
Shirou clearly saw two opposing sides locked in vicious combat—one side wore heavy furs, the other lighter armor. They danced in blood, their battle cries interwoven with death and brutality.
"Die—!"
Another enraged shout came from behind. An armored warrior rushed at Shirou, swinging his blade recklessly toward Shirou's head.
Instinctively, Shirou reacted faster than thought. By the time he realized what he'd done, it was already too late to hold back.
Squelch!
A thin spray of blood marked the man's collapse. Shirou had killed him effortlessly.
A technique I trained to fight demons… and now I've ended a human life.
"Bashar—!!"
Witnessing his comrade's death, another young man nearby charged at Shirou, eyes blazing red with fury.
But Shirou stood frozen, unable to comprehend the reality of having taken a human life with his own hands.
Squelch!
To these ordinary men, Shirou's strength was overwhelming—like an adult against a child. Even casual, defensive actions could lead to fatal results.
Shirou hated the instinctive reflexes he'd honed in the demon-infested forest. But on this battlefield, there was no room for hesitation.
Appearing in strange clothing amid battle, he became a target for both sides. No combatant would spare attention or offer protection to a civilian who stumbled onto a battlefield.
This was war—a place without conversation or reason.
Only death, over and over.
BOOM!
A massive stone crashed down from above, hitting the earth with explosive force, hurling dirt and rock fragments in every direction.
But it wasn't just one stone.
Shirou glanced skyward. Countless dark shapes rained down like hail.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Giant rocks plummeted, indiscriminately crushing warriors around him—whether clad in thick furs or lighter metal armor, all fell beneath the relentless storm.
Blood burst forth with each impact, limbs shattered and scattered gruesomely.
But even more shocking than the carnage was how neither side bothered to dodge.
A warrior clad in furs had barely finished decapitating his enemy when a stone obliterated him. Another warrior, wielding a katana, charged fearlessly toward enemies, only to vanish beneath stone and gore.
Countless more rushed madly past the piles of corpses around Shirou, heedless of their comrades' deaths.
Layers of blood coated Shirou's body, the heavy stench overwhelming his senses.
His mind went numb.
People die when they're killed.
Shirou couldn't allow himself to be cut down by these men—but he hated himself for becoming a part of this meaningless slaughter.
Even if he wished to end it, he was utterly powerless. This wasn't a conflict that could be stopped by one man's strength alone.
His interference now would only soak his hands with more blood, powerless to change the outcome.
Blood flew, limbs fell, and pristine snow turned scarlet in mere moments.
Even the gently drifting snowflakes were tainted with death, carrying a bone-chilling cold.
Yet not even this bitter cold could halt their slaughter.
"I'm sorry… Alma…"
A young man, severed at the waist by Shirou, wept blood-stained tears as he gazed at a picture in his hand—a smiling blonde woman cradling a child.
"Can I… find happiness?"
An older man, belly pierced by Shirou's blade, clutched his wound desperately, staring at the cruel, blood-red sun with prayerful eyes.
"You'll die miserably—!"
A muscular warrior, decapitated in an instant, cursed Shirou with furious hatred as his severed head rolled across the snow, gaze fixed unflinchingly until death took him.
As the senseless slaughter continued, Shirou's hand gripping his Nichirin Blade began to tremble.
Is this… what a Hero of Justice looks like?