Chapter 426: The Lancer and Shirou
At the entrance of the factory, the black spiral lance thrust forward with enough momentum to pierce and shred everything it touched, aiming directly at Shirou's head.
Shirou did not retreat but advanced instead, leaping forward violently. His black and white blades, Kanshou and Bakuya, emitted a glow as they shifted into their long-blade mode. Risking being skewered, he committed to a strike aimed at the enemy's body below the head, swearing to decapitate the dark shadow in a single stroke.
Yet, in this life-or-death moment, Shirou performed an action completely opposite to the previous second: he froze. He let go with both hands, allowing the blades that were meant to strike to slip from his palms and fall to the ground.
The moment the spear tip was about to pierce Shirou, it suddenly shuddered, the power of its spiral dissipating as it came to a halt.
Because at the very last second, he sensed a familiar aura. However, the attack had come too swiftly; whether for dodging or changing his stance, it was already too late.
Shirou was still grazed by the tip of the lance and tumbled to the ground from mid-air. He saw the person clearly: a female knight riding a black steed, clad in black armor. The face was one he knew incredibly well, though slightly more mature—the innocence of youth replaced by the allure and majesty of a queen.
Before Shirou could speak, the woman spoke first.
The gorgeous woman vaulted off her horse and reached out to Shirou on the ground. "Shirou... I didn't expect it to be you. You aren't hurt, are you?"
"Yes, I'm fine." Shirou took the woman's hand and pulled himself up. Because she had restrained all her strength and mana at the final moment, he had only been poked by the tip of the spear; there was merely a red mark on the muscle of his chest, not even a drop of blood.
The woman was the Black King of Storms—Artoria, who, having drawn the Sword in the Stone, primarily used the Holy Spear in her conquests. With less influence from the holy sword on her body, she had continued to grow, seemingly frozen at the peak of human maturity.
Perhaps because she had become a Heroic Spirit, this unique existence could influence the causality of her own flesh upon manifesting as a Servant. It could also be argued that this Artoria had the same beginning as the one Shirou knew, but had walked a different path in another world—another King Arthur.
After all, the Throne of Heroes, which exists outside the timeline, is too far removed from humanity. Even mages proficient in spirit-summoning or those studying Counter Force do not fully understand it. Even frontline Chaldea still faces many unknowns; the knowledge and intelligence they possess might merely be the tip of the iceberg.
Among the many Heroic Spirits on the Throne, there are others like Artoria—the same figure, yet not the exact same Heroic Spirit; they are both identical and different. For instance, the older the King, the more they lean toward legend and possess the blood of gods. Yet, there are also tyrant monarchs who performed great feats in history; historically they were brilliant strategists, while in legend they are the children of gods. There are even those who were so powerful in life they achieved immortality, bypassing the category of "Heroic Spirit" to become gods or buddhas.
The same figure can even spawn different Heroic Spirits—like Vlad III the vampire vs. Vlad III the iron-blooded general. Or, for instance, Elizabeth Bathory, the vampire countess who starved to death in a dungeon, versus the Elizabeth who has zero self-awareness and is obsessed with being an idol and holding concerts.
"You're different from the Artoria I know. We're meeting for the first time, aren't we?" Shirou asked.
"The other 'me' who once slept in Avalon borrowed power from me, so I fused with her and gained memories related to her. Shirou, don't feel like strangers. While my personality may be a bit different, I am undoubtedly your companion."
The pale gold hair in front of him seemed longer than in her "Saber" state, falling in smooth, textured curls with strands framing her face. Her voice sounded like that of a proud, domineering, cool-headed older sister. In both body and mind, she was in the exquisite state of early maturity, exuding femininity in every way.
Because of her "Alter" transformation, she understood human hearts better than the white Lion King, and she was more frank about her desires. She looked at Shirou with a playful, mature beauty. Her gaze was intense and somewhat dazzling, causing Shirou to look away, answering awkwardly: "I... see. I understand."
He didn't doubt what she said, but... Shirou hesitated for a moment before saying, "Um, Artoria, could you... put on some clothes? This is too extreme. And you're standing a bit too close..."
"Hoh? So you're shy, are you?" Artoria chuckled pleasantly, her body leaning closer to Shirou once more, her upper body practically pressing against him.
"Wait! Artoria!" Shirou protested.
"We really haven't seen each other in a long time. Ever since your final battle with the white God, you disappeared, and no matter how I searched, I couldn't find you. Is it wrong to want to look at your face now, Shirou?" Artoria reached out and stroked Shirou's cheek affectionately.
"Ugh... mm..." Shirou blushed crimson, but he didn't refuse her. He simply let her do as she pleased. The distance between them was now no different from an embrace.
Back at the club, as a host, Shirou was used to intimate contact with mature women. But in those instances, he treated it as work, doing his best to make everyone feel happy. Although
his moral compass had been "carefully trained" by Merlin during his amnesia, it was too late to reclaim his innocence now.
However, it depended on the person. If it were other big sisters at the club, he would stay rational—after all, he knew from the start there was no genuine affection. Love without substance only leads to emptiness. But once trapped in the vortex of real emotions, even a rational person can go mad.
Shirou had seen wealthy businesswomen lose everything just to vie for the affection of a host, sending luxury cars and houses. But with Artoria, it was different. Shirou felt his face heating up, his heartbeat accelerating. Thoughts like, Is this what Artoria is like as an adult? couldn't help but arise.
In short, Artoria's allure was simply too strong.
But Shirou, as a man aiming to be a hero of justice, would not be so easily dominated. Although Artoria had grown from a young girl into a great beauty, he had also experienced several years since high school, and he had come into his own. So even though she was 171cm tall and wearing high combat boots, he was still taller, their height difference being a golden 15 or 16 centimeters.
Shirou reached out and pulled Artoria—who was still laughing while stroking his face—into his arms, looking down at her. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither could look away.
"Shirou..." Her eyes became even softer.
"Artoria..." Shirou whispered in response.
Grumble~!
At that moment, the woman's stomach growled.
"Ahem. In any case... come inside. That's my base. I was just about to have a midnight snack." Artoria pulled away, coughed, and turned to lead Shirou inside.
'Because I interrupted your meal, that's why that spear thrust was so direct and merciless...' Shirou thought. 'But... it's the same recipe, the same Artoria. That's for sure.'
"Ahaha," Shirou chuckled and followed her in. It was indeed a food processing plant, lined with dozens of production machines. One could see the mechanical division of labor on the assembly line, and there was a silver steel door that seemed to be a cold-storage warehouse for food.
Artoria grabbed a large bag of bread slices from a table made of cardboard boxes, stuffed them with fried chicken patties, salmon, and beef patties produced by the plant, ignored the vegetable leaves, paired it with a giant bottle of cola, and began eating ravenously.
"Shirou, do you want some?" Artoria looked at him and invited him.
"No, no need." Shirou laughed dryly. As expected, because she was "Black," her taste in food was just like Artoria Alter. He scanned his surroundings, noticing an opened corrugated box covered with bubble wrap and rags, which seemed to be her bed, with inflatable packing bags as a pillow. In a corner of the factory, a small mountain of empty bottles and bags lay piled up, suggesting she had occupied this place for quite some time.
Suddenly, an astonishing burst of mana erupted outside!
Shirou and Artoria, who was busy stuffing a burger into her mouth, exchanged looks and rushed out together.
Under the night sky, a massive circular light suddenly flickered to life on a tall building outside the factory, shooting a beam of light high into the sky. The building had a giant movie screen billboard, likely for a cinema or a place advertising promotional events. A silhouette stood atop the giant light, spreading its arms to partially obscure the beam, creating a pattern projected against the night sky. It was a magnificent, high-profile entrance.
"Moriarty! It really was your scheme. But unfortunately, we've unraveled it. Don't think that just because Holmes isn't here, you can do whatever you want!" Shirou frowned, recognizing the bearded uncle on the building.
He had thought this guy had joined Chaldea and turned over a new leaf, but it seemed that in a different place, he was back to causing trouble. Yes, they had met before; he had witnessed the process of Moriarty transforming from a Phantom into a Heroic Spirit, and any Servant summoned at any stage would possess those memories.
"It is certain... that Holmes is not in this world, so I am perfect." Moriarty showed a look of disgust when mentioning that man. His tone shifted, and he looked at Shirou, smiling: "However, aren't you the same as me? Abandoning your divinity to obtain a method to become a perfect human. By being continuously re-awakened, you will surely obtain a satisfactory life someday."
"I assert here that your journey, young Shirou, has only just begun. This is definitely not the final world. I must admit you have put in the effort and possess unique talent. Although you were part of my plan from the start... even I didn't expect it... Shirou-kun... that you would choose not to run, but to risk cross-dressing just to continue your infiltration."
Moriarty's expression changed. He snapped his fingers, and the billboard beneath his feet began playing a video of Shirou wearing a wig, posing as the female executive. His illusion magic hadn't worked; the security camera had captured his face perfectly.
"Fuhahahaha!!" Moriarty laughed, throwing his head back. When he lowered it, he pointed at Shirou and erupted into laughter again. "CROSS-DRESSING!!! Fuhuhahahaha~! I really want to take you back to Chaldea to show everyone."
Moriarty laughed wantonly, stopped for a moment to look at Shirou, then the screen, then pointed at Shirou again, and threw his head back in another fit of laughter. Shirou's face went dark, his teeth gritting.
"Shirou?" Artoria, the black Lion King, looked at the man beside her with a confused expression. This boy seemed a bit different from the one in her memories—first red, then black, then a blacksmith, and now cross-dressing... Was it true that people changed?
"No, that's not it! It was all for the infiltration mission!" Shirou's face burned, and he glared at Moriarty frantically. Turning back to see Artoria's subtle look, he quickly explained.
It was professionalism! 100%! From beginning to end, everything was to complete the mission!
In Chinese Peking Opera, the four great Dan roles were historically men. Masters like Mei Lanfang primarily played female roles—The Concubine Drunken, Farewell My Concubine, Mu Guiying, and so on. Noh theater is passed down through families, male-only. Even Kabuki—the name itself implies its origins—is now performed by men playing women.
There was Tom Cruise and Andy Lau wearing disguises to fool people, Jackie Chan as Chun-Li, Leslie Cheung in Farewell My Concubine, John Lone in M. Butterfly...
And that's not all! From the Renaissance Da Vinci down to Li Yuchun, throughout history and across cultures, how many artists haven't cross-dressed!
"Anyway... it was all for the mission, do you understand?" Shirou looked sincerely at Artoria.
"I understand, Shirou. I understand." Artoria gave a look that suggested she truly grasped it, responding with a light chuckle. At that moment, she really seemed like a doting older sister. Perhaps only in front of Shirou would she drop her cold facade.
At that moment, the hidden Merlin opened a projection, appearing on the scene, resting his chin on his hand as he added:
"That's right, Shirou having a few hobbies is nothing. This isn't the era where white men decided the fate of the black race; you have the freedom to choose your own life."
Everyone has different hobbies. Napoleon even wore silk stockings! Although that was the aesthetic of the era, can you guarantee those aristocrats didn't rub their thighs in private, feeling the smoothness and comfort? And some authors who love pleasing their readers purposefully stop writing just to use cross-dressing as a way to "pay off their debt." You really think people can't see the hidden sass in your hearts! I know you love cross-dressing deep down!
"Shut up! Be quiet, Merlin! I trusted your word when I accepted this mission! Are you trying to make things worse for me?" Shirou roared in frustration.
"Alright, alright, don't be angry. I won't say any more," Merlin said, waving his hand with a cheeky grin. It was indeed a bit ungentlemanly of him, as Shirou said. But because he found it so amusing, he couldn't help himself.
Read ahead (60 chapters) by supporting me on buymeacoffee com/varietl or ko-fi edwriting