I in no way shape or form own Fate/Stay Night or Overlord ( オーバーロード). They belong to their respective owner. Fate/Stay night is property of Type-Moon, and Overlord ( オーバーロード) belongs to Kugane Maruyama. And I in no shape or form make a profit of writing and publishing this.

And here's the next chapter! Pretty fast by my standard. Hopefully, I can keep it up.

I don't have much to say here as I did in the previous opening notes. It was fun writing fight scenes again so hopefully I haven't lost too much of my edge when it comes to what matters in an actual tournament arc. Besides that, this chapter marks the actual fighting of the World Champion Tournament and I am genuinely excited for what I've got planned in the coming chapters.

It's been a long time, but it's finally here. Almost hard to believe that it's been five years since I uploaded the first chapter all those years ago. The World Champion Tournament was one of the major plot points that I thought up way back then, back when I uploaded the first chapter and was brainstorming where the story was heading. The ideas and plotline have changed and evolved over the years, but the outline has remained relatively the same. A part of me is both excited that it's finally here but also disappointed that it took so long to finally get to this point. Oh well, better late than never.

There'll be a more expansive Author's Note at the end as always and with that, please enjoy the chapter!

Beta'd: Dante Evans

Word Count: 27,391

Chapter 12: The 9th World Champion Tournament II

October 20, 2136. World: Midgard. Location: Unknown

Shirou's eyes glazed over, and the memory of that day rushed back into him.

He was lying on his bed; the Jeweled Sword plunged deep into his chest and heart, and bright light filled the room.

Zelretch's last word to him echoed.

"Take care, Shirou."

The kaleidoscope of colors grew brighter before darkness approached and swallowed him. And then he awoke to a brand new word.

An image of Zelretch way back then appeared before him, superimposing itself onto the man in front of him as Shirou was taken back to the present.

The Wizard Marshall, he hadn't aged a single day since Shirou last saw him.

Zelretch casually strode around his desk, making his way towards the center where his guest stood.

He raised his hand, a sphere of magic circles appearing and whirling within his palm. Shirou tensed up, fingers flexing instinctively to call upon the married blades, despite knowing the futility of such an action.

The magic circles spun faster and faster before light expanded forth from them. He braced himself as a close-to-indescribable sensation washed over him. It felt as if he was submerged in a lukewarm lake and dragged deeper into the depths.

He gasped, breathless, at the sensation.

"What did you—" He never completed his sentence, as his hand immediately shot up to his jaws, feeling movement. The projection user's eyes widened further as his senses rushed back to him.

Touch, taste, smell - all his senses, no longer were they muted or hindered.

He breathed in, feeling the fresh air fill his lungs, and then he breathed out, relishing the sensation.

He was human again, with flesh and blood rather than polygons and lines of code — as far as he could tell anyway. More than that, he felt better than he ever did before.

He felt alive.

Stunned heterochromatic eyes sought the Dead Apostle out, finding him reclined in one of the chairs with a golden chalice of wine in hand.

"H-how?"

"Oh, you know. Second Magic, full VR integration, technomagic... Take your pick." His hand waved off breezily, dismissing the question as he took a sip.

"It ain't the Moon Cell, but then again, what is, am I right? But it'll do the job."

Zelretch watched as Shirou inspected himself, his mouth opening and closing several times, but never a word left him.

"Well, are you going to stand there all day or are you going to sit?" He prompted.

Shirou snapped out of it. "B-but the tournament..."

"Is not going to go anywhere." The old man waved away. "A delay isn't going to harm anyone. Besides, how long has it been since we've last seen one another? Please, take a seat. I won't have it said that I'm a poor host, especially to an old friend."

Shirou's body moved on autopilot, and he sat down on the lone chair left. The cushion of the chair was soft to the touch, and as he leaned back, a sense of comfort eased him in.

"Drink?"

"...Water." He requested, finding his voice.

Zelretch nodded and poured his drink from one of the crystal pitchers. Shirou muttered a small thank you, taking the chalice and bringing it up to his lips.

His body let out an involuntary shudder as the crystal-cool water washed down his throat. A sigh of contentment left his lips, relishing the taste. It was only water, but he drank it with the fervor of a man dying of thirst amidst the scorching lands of Múspellsheim. Draining the cup in one gulp, he asked for more, which Zelretch easily obliged.

A minute or two passed in silence. The ancient sorcerer looked at him patiently, allowing his guest to gain his bearings before continuing. The magus could only return with a passive stare of his own. Doubt weighed heavily within him, and so he was unsure of what to say, let alone how to begin.

How many times has he wondered and pondered the chance to meet with Zelretch again? To stand in front of the man and look him in the eye. Countless times, but they've always remained what-ifs.

And now, here they were, at long last.

For Shirou, a thousand thoughts ran through his head, and a hundred questions rested on the tip of his tongue. After so long, this was his chance. The first and perhaps final opportunity to speak his mind with the man responsible for his current situation. To unleash it all, the years of confusion, doubt, curiosity, and even hopelessness.

Yet, in the most crucial of moments, he found himself tongue-tied.

Sitting face-to-face with the man who started it all, he found himself blanking out, unsure.

And so time stretched indefinitely onward.

"Well?" Zelretch looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Are you going to finally start talking, or are we going to continue sitting here staring at each other longingly, like long-lost lovers finally united? Because I can go either way."

He took another sip, never breaking eye contact with the magus. If anything, he concentrated harder, as if it were a staring contest.

'At least he hasn't lost his brand of humor…'

Shirou's mouth opened, and before anything else, these two words were uttered.

"Thank you."

Both blinked, surprised. None more than Shirou, whose mouth moved faster than his mind.

"Not going to lie, I wasn't expecting that." The master of Kaleidoscope admitted. "I had bets that you'd start with anger, screaming, or cursing me out. That, or try and interrogate me on what the hell I've been up to and for leaving you hung and dry for all these odd years. Heck, I'm surprised you didn't just demand for me to hand over the Saber Class Card outright."

Ignoring the slight rambling commentary, he swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath.

"I never had the chance to thank you for your help all those years ago. Thank you, Zelretch." He repeated and bowed to him. "For giving me this second chance."

In spite of everything, it was thanks to his intervention that he owed his second lease on life. It was thanks to him that Shirou had the chance to escape from slowly wallowing away and meet those he was honored to call his friends.

Much of the fire against him has waned with the passage of the years, dulled into an idle ember. He couldn't find it within himself to muster any residual anger or resentment for the man after all this time. Only a sense of wane gratitude for all that he's done.

"Oh, sure, you're welcome. Next time you need to be stabbed, give me a call, and I'll head right over." Zelretch joked with a hearty chortle, his lips twitching into a smirk.

Shirou narrowed his eyes but ultimately shook his head. Even after all these years, Zelretch was still whimsical as ever. It was a cold comfort, a reminder of better times, yet he couldn't help but secretly enjoy it.

He did have questions, but all of them were superficial and, in the end, inconsequential. They would satisfy merely his curiosity and urge to know rather than any true desire. All but one question.

One question that has been simmering within the back of his mind ever since that fateful day all those years ago.

"When you first sent me into this world, I wondered how exactly all of this would allow me to escape Alaya's grasp. I spent the first odd years pondering on it, and I think I have an answer." His finger tapped the armrest, and his voice slowly gained momentum. "I'm alive in this world, a reality where gods, magic, and greater mystery reign supreme. A world that has its own structure and rules, separate from that of reality. Since not only my body and mind were digitized, or whatever process it was that you performed on me, so too was my soul. In other words, I'm no longer bound to the World while I am held within this virtual pocket reality. This means that Alaya has no true hold in YGGDRASIL and thus has no reliable method of reaching me within this separated boundary. This was what you had planned from the beginning, isn't it Zelretch?"

Zelretch said nothing. His eyes closed, giving only the tiniest of nods.

Shirou perked up, a ghost of a smile taking to his lips, only to deflate from what he would hear next.

"Yes, but actually no." He answered, gyrating his wrist with a small hand wave gesture.

The magus blinked, brows furrowing.

"I'm sorry, but what?"

"Apology accepted."

"I... you…! No! What do you mean by yes, but also no? How can I be both right and wrong?"

"Exactly how it is."

Another stretch of silence eclipsed them. Shirou looked to the Father of Jewel Magecraft, waiting and hoping that he would clarify himself, but nothing ever came of it.

"A-aren't you going to elaborate?"

"No, I don't think I will." He looked away, staring off with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

Once again, he got the feeling Zelretch was referencing something.

Shirou worked his jaw, staring at Zelretch in disbelief, unable to fathom what exactly the CEO was going on about, having received only a contradictory answer and then an outright refusal to explain himself.

Baffled, the Operator of Parallel Worlds seized the opportunity.

"So, since you had your turn, I'd say it's my turn." Zelretch proposed, continuing before Shirou even had a chance to object or say otherwise.

"It's good to see you again, m'boy. In the beginning, I was a bit worried, but in the end, I'm glad you were able to open yourself back up again to others."

His hand reached out, grabbing a fig and taking a bit of the succulent fruit.

"And what an emotional roller coaster it has been! Rediscovering friends, opening up to others, becoming part of something greater, and uncovering a mystery of the past. A desperate endeavor and a journey of self-reflection and companionship." He narrated.

"And now, here you stand, or rather, sit, before me. So tell me, for I have a curious question of my own. Have you given any thought as to what'll come next after you win the Saber Class Card?"

"Don't you mean if I win?" Shirou replied neutrally.

Zelretch snorted.

"Please. As if you haven't already sized up the competition while also coming up with dozens of plans for the upcoming fights against any opponents that come your way in that noggin of yours." He tapped his head before levying the finger at the magus. "Besides, does that mean you admit you're okay with the idea of losing then?"

The tightened and hyper-focused expression on Shirou's face was all the answer Zelretch needed.

"That's what I thought." He grinned auspiciously, helping himself to the plate of snacks.

"Why do you care what I do with it?" Shirou questioned.

"Because as you are now, I fear all the work that has been laid out would be for naught. So do please shut up and listen." Zelretch snapped, maintaining his cordial tone with a sideway glare.

The spontaneous and sharp reproach from Zelretch was enough to give Shirou pause, allowing him to press forward.

"Back to what I was saying. Hypothetically, let's say, should you or your friend, Warrior Takemikazuchi, win this tournament, it is finally within your grasp. The Saber Class Card, the one that you've spent countless years chasing after, is all yours. You have it at last, so that raises the question. What happens next then, hmm? Will you use it in hopes of bringing your precious King of Knights to join you? But what'll you do if who you call forth isn't your precious Saber? Or maybe you'll keep the card as it is, a memento in her name?"

Shirou leaned back, ruminating on the thought.

His first encounter with a Class Card was one of revelation and purpose. For the first time since he'd arrived within YGGDRASIL, something called for him. They were a piece of his past, a fixation.

The mere prospect that they existed was enough to spur him into action, along with the mystery of it all. Perhaps it had been the belief that Zelretch was taunting him with a promise of Saber. Perhaps it was a desire for purpose. Or, perhaps... It was a plea for a miracle.

He had not thought about the why; all he'd known was that he yearned for them... to his own detriment, as his friends helped him realize. And it wasn't until recently that their true value was uncovered. Which only rekindled his desire to be realized, if only against the slimmest of odds to find her again. Just as Zelretch promised him so many moons ago.

"Are you saying it won't be her? Did you not promise that I would have a chance to see them again all those years ago? If so, then why would that not be the case? You helped oversee and later dismantle the Heaven's Feel system. If anyone has the knowledge and capability of accessing the Throne of Heroes, it's you, Zelretch." He probed, fighting to keep his voice leveled at the possibility of being lied to for all these years while also fighting back against such a thought.

Zelretch was many things, but a liar he was not.

"I did. And I still intend to keep my promise." He acknowledged, and nothing more. Shirou resisted the urge to ask again, for he doubted that the man would offer a straight answer similar to last time.

"As for the latter, well, who knows? Perhaps if the gacha gods are feeling merciful, they'll reunite you with your precious Arturia. That or another one." Zelretch returned idly, neither confirming nor denying the question. Again, his expression was indecipherable.

Shirou's face knitted in confusion and irritation. Once more, the Second Magic user's words eluded him. His lips were drawn into a frown as he fought back the urge to sigh. He just wished that the Zelretch would just speak plainly for once.

"So, at this very moment, you have only two real goals." Zelretch drummed his fingers against the fine wooden armrest and held up two fingers.

"The first would be finally attaining the Saber Class Card that you have desperately yearned for and one that is well within your reach, giving you closure on this saga. The second would be making the most of the little time you have left with your posse before finally bidding them goodbye, whenever that may be. The first is more of a work in progress, and the second is more of an eventuality. But for posterity's sake, let's say everything goes exactly as you'd envisioned it. The Saber Class Card is yours at last. Whether you choose to use it or not is up to your discretion."

He paused to take a sip, wetting his lip.

"Fast forward to some time in the future, and you and your guildmates — or what remains — fend off the invasion against Nazarick. With the day saved and Ainz Ooal Gown and Nazarick no longer under threat, you've hopefully made your peace and will eventually say goodbye to each of your beloved comrades in Ainz Ooal Gown when their time comes. A beautiful tear-jerking goodbye, a heartfelt promise for the future, and all that mushy crap. The perfect send-off between treasured friends."

Shirou didn't bother to comment on how he knew about the current state of affairs regarding Ainz Ooal Gown — it was doubtful he would've gotten a straight answer either way.

"And then…" Zelretch set his drink down, spreading open his arm, and looked around as if expecting something. It ended with a weak gesture, as if disappointed. "It's just you. What comes next, I must wonder, in the hero's journey that is the story of Shirou Emiya?"

Shirou didn't offer an answer immediately. Seconds passed before he found his voice.

"I do my duty. For them."

"And that is?"

"The safeguard of Nazarick. Protecting it and the legacy of Ainz Ooal Gown." The memory of his friends.

"Hmm, how admirable." His words were dry, deprived of a genuine compliment. Instead, Shirou was made all too aware of the flicker of animosity brewing within those scarlet eyes.

"Are you saying that is the final chapter of your story? The last great tale of your adventures? After everything you've been through, after everything you've done, and through all the trials and tribulations you've experienced in your life, this is how you choose your final act to be? To stand and keep up maintenance as a glorified guard dog for an empty tomb on the slimmest of chances that your friends might pop in for a quick hello if they ever have time in the future? Such loyalty! Why, it's the story of Hachikō born anew! Let's see if you can beat the record and make it past nine years."

Shirou's hand tightened around the armrest of his chair at the blatant sarcastic drawl, but he kept his tongue.

Zelretch drained his cup of every drop of wine before taking a moment to refill it.

"And how long do you expect this…" He paused here, rotating his wrist as if looking for the most appropriate word to use. "Last rite of yours to last, I wonder?"

"Until it is done."

"Oh, really now?!" Zelretch challenged, leaning forward with gleaming scarlet eyes. The ancient being stared down at him, piercing him to find any signs of falsehood.

Shirou stiffened under his gaze. All sense of levity vanished from the man, as if it were never there in the first place, replaced with a shrewd and calculating judgement.

"I see…" The Dead Apostle Ancestor rumbled, indulging the faker. His intense gaze never left him as he reclined back in his chair. "How dutiful and selfless of you, but tell me, what's the point of a guard dog if the purpose has long since passed? What'll you plan to do if the game keeps chugging along long after all your friends skedaddle? When the memory of Ainz Ooal Gown is reduced to nothing more than a fading memory? Five years, ten years, twenty years, fifty, a hundred, five hundred, a thousand? What'll happen if I decide to keep the game and server running for however long I want, with you being the only one left? When everyone you called a friend is buried and gone from this world and the next? Tell me, can you look me in the eyes and say that nothing will change? That you'll remain over that immaterial memorial, forever bound to a ceaseless duty?"

"Y-yes…" Shirou answered after a moment of hesitation, but even he couldn't prevent the small stammer that crept in.

Zelretch flashed him a sardonic smile, one that split his lips from ear to ear.

"You could. You surely could. But tell me then, how's that any different from a certain Counter Guardian's fate? How would such an existence be any different from what you wished to avoid under Alaya's in the first place?"

Shirou stiffened, his mind grinding to a halt. He'd never once thought of such a connection.

His mouth opened in reflexive denial, ready to deny the Wizard Marshall's word, to say it wasn't true, but no words came to him. As for Zelretch, he pressed on as if the magus had indeed spoken and denied the CEO's words.

"Is it?" He arched an inquisitive, ashen brow.

"Let's count them, shall we? Both of you are trapped in a circumstance that neither of you can truly change or hope to fight against whatsoever. Both of you are bound to an eternal duty of your own design that you can't quite escape from or hope to end by yourself. Both of you have done nothing but squander the kindness of others and wallow in a self-imposed duty. Both of you have spit upon the efforts of those you call friends and family for the sake of a stubborn, misguided, selfish desire. And both of you will continue, alone and forgotten, forever fighting for a deluded, unattainable wish. Oh sure, the circumstances and situations aren't one-for-one, but the parallels exist. That cannot be denied. Well, 'were' would be the more applicable term with regards to ol' EMIYA. Funny, isn't it? It was thanks to you that allowed him to rediscover himself and accept himself, and yet, here you are all but following in his footsteps. Were he here to see you now I'd imagine he'd be screaming with regret and wish he'd finished the job he started. Consequences be damned."

With every point, Shirou physically winced, leaning back further into his seat. His tongue dried up as he found himself unable to speak a word in retaliation, let alone refute him.

Shirou sat there, stiff as a board, shoulders locked and tight, his dichromatic eyes reeling. A flood of emotion swam through those silver and golden eyes as he averted his gaze.

He'd never thought about it like that, never thought to make such a connection. However, thanks to Zelretch's clarification, he couldn't deny it. No matter how much he wished otherwise. His mind supplied further parallels with his Counter Guardian self, hammering the point home all the more.

"You say you'll continue to protect the memory and legacy of your precious Ainz Ooal Gown, but I say that's hogwash. Your duty is nothing more than misguided sentimental tripe. Tell me, how will watching over an empty home help you, I must wonder? Will it suddenly give you an answer to the meaning of life?! Are you saying that this is what you wish for? Are you content with such an ending, Shirou? Surrounded by the ghost of the past, a constant reminder of better times, and refusing to properly move forward. A life without progress, one steeped in complacency. A life of pure stagnation. To live and exist, for other purposes than the sake of it. One would hardly call that living."

No, it wouldn't.

Zelretch's words echoed the same sentiments that he held within him all those months ago. Ainz Ooal Gown, his friends, helped pull him out of his slump, confronting the issue, but never was it ever truly resolved.

No, for it was merely a shift in perspective.

Life was an odyssey, a journey taken by all, and the road he and Ainz Ooal Gown have been on was on a fixed track. They were bound on the same path but with different endings. For Shirou, his journey started long ago, so long ago, and soon it'll come time for him to step off the train. But for Ainz Ooal Gown, theirs was just the beginning. There were plenty of roads left for them to tread, new sights to behold, and adventures to experience. They still had their whole lives ahead of them, and a bright future awaits. They'll continue onwards without him, and all he could do was wave goodbye from his terminus and watch as they moved on.

He told them, and even himself, that everything would work out in the end, but that in itself was nothing more than wishful thinking.

He would watch over Nazarick and the name Ainz Ooal Gown, no matter how long it took. However, the question that arose was: What comes next? Protecting the legacy and memories of his friends was a noble sentiment, but ultimately it was nothing more than an intent.

He had no answer, only the hope of one.

And in the uncomfortable silence, it became all the more damning as the clock ticked by.

Eventually, Zelretch offered him a way out on the matter, but the conversation was far from over.

"I've heard plenty of what you want. But…" He paused here, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, rectangular wooden case. Opening it, he took out a large and rounded cigar, and with a snap of his finger, the end of the cigar lit up. Taking a huge puff, he blew, the smoke forming a ring in the air before dispersing.

"But I've heard little of what your friends want. After all, friendship is a two-way street. If they truly care for you, then I very much doubt that your friends would be okay with the idea of you living like some recluse. To be cut off from the community and basic Player interaction, all to preserve your history."

He took another puff as a flicker of conflicted emotion spread across the magus's face.

"You're more than capable of opening back up to others, forming bonds, and making connections again; Ainz Ooal Gown is clear proof of that. There's nothing truly stopping you from, say, meeting other people and making new friends to help fill in the void for those who have departed. After all, protagonists always have a knack for forming bonds with just about anyone. So I doubt it'll be too much trouble on your end. Hell, look at it like this. When it's just you, you'll effectively be the new Guildmaster of Ainz Ooal Gown, and you'll get to decide how to run things. You can invite anyone you wish to join Ainz Ooal Gown. That way, you'll be killing two birds with one stone. You'll have people and friends to talk and play with again, and the name of Ainz Ooal Gown will be revitalized and carried on. You'd never have to worry about being bored or alone ever again." Zelretch laid out.

A heavy frown dominated the faker's face, showing exactly what he thought of the idea.

"You don't think I'll forsake my friends that easily, do you?"

"Then don't do it. I was just offering solutions." Zelretch immediately countered, staring right back at him. "And secondly, when did I ever say that you would "forsake" your friends? You can still move forward while keeping their memories alive and faithful. It doesn't have to be one or the other." He replied, offering him a pointed look.

"I'm not saying you have to invite people to Ainz Ooal Gown or anything like that. But the point still stands. There are options - you are not beholden strictly to Ainz Ooal Gown. There are plenty of Players in the game who are part of some guild but also hang out and play with different friend groups that aren't related to the guild. It's not an impossibility. If that's the case for them, why couldn't it be for you as well? What is stopping you from moving forward?"

Nothing was the answer, yet Shirou's month remained sealed.

The idea of meeting new people and making friends was far from an outrageous idea, nor was it an unreasonable notion, and it was one he ruminated on idly over the coming months. Heck, with his friend list filled with names of those that he met, helped, and saved over the years, it wouldn't be too hard to integrate himself with another group. A chance to open up to others and begin anew. The thought wasn't without its merit, but it always left him restless.

Perhaps the greater factor against the idea was the feeling of inquiétude behind the action. To seek others out the moment Ainz Ooal Gown was no longer with him for his peace of mind and his own sake.

There was a fickleness to it, and the idea never settled with him.

It would be as if he were seeking to replace them. He would be turning his back on Momonga and everyone's memory if he were to do so. The thought of that alone made his stomach churn.

Shirou knew that was far from the truth. Ainz Ooal Gown wouldn't want him to lounge in solitude, burdened as if shackled by their departure. There was little doubt in his mind that his friends would encourage him to do what Zelretch advised. To give others a chance as they once were.

After all, they were all but strangers once upon a time. And it was only by chance that he and Momonga met and became the closest of friends. From there, Peroroncino and Bukubukuchagama joined in, and later on, the likes of Touch Me, Ulbert, Tabula, and everyone in Nine's Own Goal, among others. It all culminated in them growing into Ainz Ooal Gown. Who was to say that a miracle couldn't happen twice?

So why, then, why couldn't he so easily accept such an idea?

It was illogical, he knew.

It was selfish, he understood.

Yet Shirou couldn't find it within himself to comfort the idea. Because deep down, he knew that all roads would eventually converge at the same end. So then, why bother setting himself up for further heartbreak and disappointment?

"No matter how many more friends I make, will it even matter? I hear that player numbers are on a slow decline for YGGDRASIL, especially with more games rivaling it popping up. Everyone stops and quits the game sooner or later. It'll be no different from now." He stated.

"In other words, it isn't because you can't, but rather because you won't." Zelretch said poignantly, cutting to the crux of the matter and the veiled attempt at sidestepping the question.

The unimpressed glare leveled at Shirou only made him wilt further into himself, unable to meet his gaze. Once more, he was unable to refute Zelretch's words, and the room was plunged into the same damning silence that told him exactly what the Magician wanted to know.

"I..." Shirou stammered, trying to speak up, only to falter as he had no satisfying answer to give.

Zelretch's face creased, marred with a growing frown. Seeing that it was going nowhere, the practitioner of Second Magic took another inhale, letting out an aggressive puff. His finger tapped on the cigar to loosen the ashes.

"Tell me…" He prompted. "What would happen if I decided to shut down the game completely tomorrow? Or better yet, if I shut it all down right here, right now?"

Zelretch held up his other hand, his thumb and middle finger pressed together threateningly, and he looked ready to snap his finger, all the while bearing down on Shirou with a hard stare.

"What will be the last thought that'll run through your head, I wonder? Will it be all the regrets you have made in your life and a final desperate wish for a chance to somehow redo it and make it right? Or, will it be one of acceptance? No matter the folly or regret, a life well spent?"

For a moment, Shirou was taken back to the dream with his old man. The final words left to him by his father echoed within his mind. A question posed by Kiritsugu and now Zelretch.

One that bodes the same acknowledgment as he had in the beginning and throughout his moment of doubt.

His mouth opened, trying to speak or say something, but nothing came besides mute words.

Again, he had no answer.

Shirou looked at the man in front of him helplessly.

That was the wrong choice to make, for it only incensed the Dead Apostle Ancestor even further. His nostrils flared, and his lips twitched into a snarl, baring his fangs. Ardent crimson eyes gleamed with fervid emotion and intent as all traces of civility were gone.

Zelretch looked thoroughly fed up with Shirou.

"Is this how you wish to continue, Shirou? Will you remain forever isolated, clinging to the memories and glories of time's past? Are you unable to accept the past and move on because you're unsure of what the future holds? Are you saying you are fine with that?! Lamenting the reality of it all while doing nothing to try and change it? Tell me, how is that any different from the miserable existence of when I first found you in the beginning?! Wasn't that the reason you accepted my offer in the first place? A second chance, only instead, all you've done is retrace your steps right back to square one!"

Zelretch rose from his seat, towering over the faker, his normal calm replaced with a building fury with every punctuated sentence.

"You have no end game, no answer, and no plan besides waiting to see how it'll all end. You're dragging your feet. Your duty is nothing more than a half-measure, a pathetic stopgap! All you're doing is putting the matter out of sight and hopefully out of mind. Even if an ostrich sticks its head into the sand at the sight of a stampede of elephants, that doesn't mean the elephants will just up and disappear!"

It was in the middle of this that his hands reached out and grabbed onto him, yanking Shirou to his feet as he brought him in close. He was forced to endure Zelretch's challenging gaze as he ripped into him.

"What happened to you, kid? Where was the boy who knew of the impossibility of his ideals yet chased them regardless, for no matter how impossible they were, they were still beautiful? The one who proclaimed it was never wrong to help someone in need? Where did that passion, that drive, that fire that you used to have go?! What happened to the young hero who vowed to help anyone he could, even when the whole world was against him? Have you truly fallen so far that you can't even see the light anymore? Even EMIYA, that heroic, bitter fool, still has some fire left in him, despite being tempered by centuries of cynicism. He may not be the same as he once was, but his true nature still shines through. Who was it that reminded him of what it meant to be a hero? Who helped rekindle his hope?!

The old you would have died with a smile on his face, remorseful for hurting and leaving behind those he loved, but he would've been content with it and had absolute faith that they were more than strong enough to accept his death and move forward. He would have died fulfilled, knowing that he had saved one more life and made it better before passing on. Even that alternate version of you went to the gallows with a smile on his face! But with you standing before me here and now, it's like you're an entirely different person!

Forget your friends, forget the Class Card, forget your ideals, forget Saber or Rin, forget everything! And ask yourself this one simple question. What are you fighting for? What do you hope to do? JUST WHAT EXACTLY IS EMIYA SHIROU LIVING FOR?!"

His every word cut into him, gutting his hesitations and indecisions alike. With every point, it felt as if he was being stabbed through the heart by Gáe Bulg. But unlike Gáe Bolg's cursed barbs, there was collateral. Scars that he'd hoped to hide, scars that he'd wished could be forgotten, and scars that he thought had healed. None of that matter, as they were torn open and salted anew, burning shame and guilt into his mind. And he could do nothing, as the Ancestor's vitriol rang true.

That crimson stare, the gaze of someone beyond human but deeply humane. One filled with unparalleled power and knowledge, coupled with an overwhelming sense of empathy. The twisting expression that peered down at him was equally imploring of him as it was menacing. However, what struck him the most was the rawness of the emotions that emanated from the voice.

A whirlwind of anger, a flood of weariness, a hurricane of annoyance, an oasis of hope, and all of them blurred, with a dozen lesser emotions that he could not distinguish. Yet he didn't need to name them to know that they were spoken out of grief for his diminished self.

Tearful aqua eyes stared at him imploringly. A shrill-full voice cried out his name in equal parts frustration and desperation but also a mournful plea.

"Please... help me, help you, Shirou…!"

Just what was he living for again?

Once, it was in pursuit of a smile. An ideal.

Another, it was to protect those that he loved and cherished.

Here, it was to care for and watch over his guildmates, his friends.

Or at least, that was what he told himself.

But after them, what comes next?

"I... I don't know…" Shirou finally answered.

And so, the truth surfaces at last.

He had long known the answer, deep within him, even if he never voiced it.

But by admitting it, it became His words, His truth. A quiet and solemn admission.

"Neither do I, kid." Zelretch replied in an equally soft voice.

All of his anger evaporated, leaving only a sympathetic melancholy. His fingers untangled themselves from the magus, allowing Shirou to fall listlessly back into his seat.

"That's a question only you and you alone can answer."

After all that was said and done, the room returned to silence from whence it came. Shirou had nothing to offer for Zelretch's final word. Nothing but a numbing, lost stare.

Heterochromatic eyes drifted, finding themselves staring into the chalice. His lost reflection stared right back at the water's tranquil surface.

His eyes drooped, half-lidded, as the light within them dulled. A single droplet ran down his cheek and fell, splashing against the calm water of the chalice, dispelling the fragile clarity as his reflection rippled.

How long, he wondered. How long has he been walking this winding, distorted path of his with nothing more than a hope and a prayer for the end?

At that moment, the truth of Shirou Emiya was revealed.

A man who has lived for too long.

The sound of sniffling came from Shirou, making Zelretch's cheek twitch. His lips pursed, puckering at the cheek, as a hand reached up to scratch his finely trimmed beard. He suppressed the urge to sigh while giving the magus a sidelong glance.

This whole meeting and conversation had veered far off course from what he originally intended. He had hoped for Shirou to draw from his failures and fire back with equal vigor, invigorated, but instead, he simply accepted it.

Then again, Zelretch partially blamed himself as well.

YGGDRASIL wasn't simply designed to house him; it was also to give Shirou a second chance to recover.

And it worked. He found a sense of comfort at long last.

But it was this very same comfort, that peace, that cost him his strength, his fire.

Zelretch knew he'd never been good at this gentle emotion stuff besides a few noticeable examples, but they were too few and far between for him to be considered decent at it.

But he made a promise to her, and he'll keep it no matter the obstacle. Even if the source of it was the man himself.

"Time for a different approach." He muttered under his breath.

"Did you know that she finally got the hang of how to use a phone?"

Shirou's ear twitched, catching his words, but he remained as he was.

"Magus society has always been old-fashioned, even to the point of being technologically inept, but Rin was nothing but persistent. Anyway, she came barging into my office one day, as smug as she could be. Showing off this and that on her new phone she acquired." Zelretch conversed, drudging up a sudden story as Shirou listened in.

Bubbles of memories resurfaced as the magus recalled the event. Rin, Saber, and he were in London at the time, and he got around to purchasing a phone for the twin-tailed magus and taught her how to use it.

"You should've seen her, head held high as she showed off. She even suggested that I should ditch my old and reliable flip phone for one of the new-fangled touchscreen phones and that she'd be willing to teach me how to use it. Cheeky lil' brat. Which made it all the funnier when I told her about voicemail. 'You can leave entire voiced messages for people to hear?!' It cracks me just thinking about it." Zelretch imitated her voice at the end, shrill and in disbelief.

He chuckled, his voice tinged with nostalgia and full of familiar pride.

Unbidden, the ghost of a smile slipped across Shirou's lips as the two shared in the memory.

As quickly as it came, it left him with a thought. Shirou glanced at the Magician, silent but attentive. He was unsure of why he was suddenly in a talkative and reminiscing mood, bringing up memories of simpler and better times.

"Did you know that she called your number multiple times over the years? Only Root knows how many times... It did serve as a good form of catharsis, leaving voicemails and venting. Perhaps the reason she kept doing it even in her later years was because she knew… Either you'd lost it or simply changed it, the chances of you hearing them were nonexistent. So she vented into that dead number. How many times did she hear that automated operator? I didn't keep track, but they always seemed to be quite long... and they were the things she never could tell you directly."

That piece of information was news to him. When was the last time he used a phone, he wondered? Better yet, when was the last time he kept an on-hand number for others to contact him? Far too long was the answer, long enough that he had completely forgotten about such a necessity.

But it seemed that Rin never did.

A fact that only compounded his guilt even further.

Shirou heard a sound, a rustling. He perked up in time to see Zelretch reaching into his breast pocket before pulling out something small and holding it out to him. It looked to be a small thumb drive.

"Care to take a gander at what I'm holding?"

He said nothing, giving it an idle look.

"I took the liberty of collecting all of Rin's recordings, including a final message from her for you, during my final visit to her."

Shirou's eyes widened, his melancholy overshadowed by the revelation given to him. However, it was only a fleeting moment, as he was quickly consumed by a shroud of guilt. His hand trembled, almost reaching out to it, but he quickly reeled it in.

The magus shook his head.

He couldn't. Not after all that happened. Not after the way things ended between them, not after the anguish he caused the two women he loved. He failed them, he failed his promise to them, and above all, he failed his promise to himself.

An oathbreaker like him didn't deserve someone like Rin or Saber again…

"Catch!"

Shirou blinked, snapping back to the present and reacting. He grabbed the thumb drive safely out of the air. He stared at it and then back at Zelretch in disbelief.

"I — I don't deserve it..."

"Probably." Zelretch did not deny it. "But it was never mine to keep in the first place."

He leaned back in his chair, facing Shirou wholly once more.

"I have grown tired of holding onto a gift that isn't mine, even if I was entrusted with it. It was always meant for you. I was just the middleman. I thought about making it a secondary prize, using it as a further incentive to motivate you to take that final step forward. But…"

He trailed off before ultimately shrugging.

"Things aren't going as smoothly as I had hoped, so we're improvising. Perhaps you can draw some comfort from Rin's message."

"Were these... her final moments?"

"Make of them what you will, it is not my place to tell you anything that isn't included in that thumb drive. I am the delivery man, and isn't that a hilarious thought?"

He chuckled, though Shirou did not share in the feeling. Yet again, Zelretch neither confirmed nor denied it.

Dichromatic eyes focused on the item in his hand, conflict waning in them.

"The way I see it is that you have two options now. Either keep it in the deepest parts of your inventory, collecting virtual dust for as long as you live and continue believing that you're undeserving and unworthy of whatever she has contained in the thumb drive. Or, you suck it and make something of yourself. We all stumble on the road called life. For some of us, we trip and fall to the ground. Sometimes we skin our knees. At others, we sprang an ankle, and periodically, we break our goddamn legs. It's a part of life, but what defines a person is how they choose to get back. And for someone with such an interesting life, you've had your fair share of skinned knees and broken legs over your life, and worse, I'm sure."

Zelretch paused here, taking another puff of his cigar.

"We all wonder and doubt; some of us even lose sight of what we thought was true and right. That doesn't mean we just give up now, does it? Your raison d'être, I'm sure you'll find it once more."

"How can you be so sure?" Shirou found his voice.

"You're still alive and kicking, aren't you? That means you still have time. You still have a chance. And while people say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, that doesn't mean the old boy can't pull out a trick or two from memory. That's, of course, not counting dementia setting in. If that's the case, then you're right fucked, m'boy!" The sorcerer answered rather cheekily, smirking at his joke.

Shirou said nothing, once again looking at the small thumb drive in his hand. His thumb caressed its surface. Gently, a fist clenched around it protectively over his heart. Heterochromatic eyes flickered from it up to Zelretch, doubt intermixed with determination.

"About time." Zelretch nodded to himself, approving of the look in the magus's eyes.

Shirou quickly stored it in his inventory for safekeeping, awaiting the right time when he was ready.

"Thank you, Zelretch." He managed with a small but true smile.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. If you really want to thank me, how about you start by learning your lesson and get some more character development already?" The Wizard Marshall waved his arm dismissively.

Zelretch then barked out a laugh, reclining in his chair. He'd seen to have found something amusing about the whole situation.

"Heh, don't we make quite the sight? Old men arguing like children over what is right and wrong, like we haven't done and experienced worse. I suppose it is the lot of old men to look back on themselves in their youth and the mistakes they made, and the regrets they carry. That's both the folly and the joy of growing old. Making those mistakes, but also learning from them and growing. Yet, even all these years later, you lack that selfishness that Rin tried to instill in you. Or rather, it's a different type of selfishness. I wonder, will you be able to find it before it's too late? Especially in the fighting to come." He added cryptically.

Shirou shot him a look, latching onto the immortal's words at the end.

"So, while I have you here, I gotta ask."

Zelretch savored the taste of his cigar, relishing each puff as he drew in a deep breath and then exhaled a cloud of roasted, chalky smoke.

"Are you planning on going after the Archer Class card next?"

Shirou's eyes briefly widened.

That was right. He possessed five of the seven Class Servants: Berserker, Rider, Lancer, Assassin, and Caster. That left Saber, as the tournament's prize, and lastly, Archer.

"I'm uncertain..." He said after a brief pause.

"How so? What's the matter, don't you want to complete the set?" Came the Magician's question.

Another short pause.

"It simply never came up." He answered.

"Well then, let's change that."

Zelretch held out his arm. Opening his hand, a kaleidoscope of soft, rainbow lights danced as the final Class Card appeared.

Shirou's eyes locked onto the World Item. His hand twitched, almost as if wanting to reach out for it. Yet, he stayed his hand.

"What's the matter? Don't you want it?"

Zelretch held it out to him, inviting him to reach for it and take it.

"I do." Shirou said after a moment.

"But not yet."

Zelretch looked at him, curious.

"There's something I have to take care of first."

His eyes drew away from the Class Card, finding the Magician's.

"In the meantime, keep it nice and warm for me when it comes time." He said with a small challenging smirk.

Zelretch's own lips curled up, mirroring the magus's confidence.

"Very well."

His hand closed, and the Archer Class Card disappeared.

"But let it be known that you asked for it." He said, almost like a warning for what was to come.

Before the conversation could continue any further, a notification window popped up in front of Zelretch. His crimson eyes skimmed the content of the text box before dismissing it all with a wave.

"Welp! We need to wrap this whole shindig up. If we delay the tournament any longer, I'm afraid the audience might start a tournament of their own just so they don't have to wait any longer. And as interesting as it'll be to see the total pandemonium of tens of thousands of Players going at it in a full-on fisticuffs, I'd rather not deal with a full-blown riot and paperwork from all the bans that we'd no doubt be handing out like candy on a Halloween night. Then again… I could always pawn off the work to someone else."

Zelretch stroked his chin, seriously considering the idea.

"Please don't." Shirou deadpanned.

"Ruin all the fun, why don't ya." The Wizard Marshall childishly whined, pouting.

Rolling his eyes, Shirou stood up. He performed small stretches, bringing sensation back to his limbs. It felt as if they'd been sitting for far longer than they were.

A growing part of him was anxious to get the tournament underway. After all that was said and done between the two, he could use a much-needed distraction. An objective to keep him centered and grounded for the time being so that he can sort himself out later.

"Wait a moment." Zelretch called out one last time.

"You know, this is usually the part where I, the all-knowing mentor figure, leave with a final quote or some parting words for you to think over. Which will no doubt be later used as foreshadowing to help remind you and push you towards that final character development. Something like, "Why do we fall?" or some other powerful speech. But I figured this would be more poignant. So..."

The Old Man of the Jewels smoothed out his clothes, drawing back his shoulders and straightening his back. He was making an effort to look prim and presentable while giving Shirou a heavy look. Shirou straightened up, matching Zelretch's gaze.

Clearing his throat, he began.

"Tell me, why did the chicken cross the road?"

Shirou blinked.

Out of all the things he'd come to expect, a chicken joke would be by far the lowest on the list. At the same time, he couldn't have imagined a more Zelretch thing to say.

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on, guess."

He thought about it for a moment before answering with the first thing that came to mind.

"To get to the other side?"

"Ding ding ding! You got it right! The chicken crossed the road to get to the other side." Zelretch crowed and clapped, completing the riddle.

Several ticks of silence passed.

A soft, unexpected sound left his lips. The corners of his mouth curled into the barest of smiles. The tiniest snort of a chuckle escaped him.

With such a setup for the joke, he had expected some kind of wild punchline or an extreme non-sequitur.

Shirou didn't know why, but he couldn't help finding it funny, so he laughed. His light and vibrant titters filled the room, bringing a sense of levity after everything that had happened, however brief or small it may have been.

"Was that it? I'd expected a bit more from someone of your reputation, Zelretch." He lightly teased.

The vampire shrugged, nonplussed.

"It's a chicken joke, it's not exactly rocket science. Although you do have to wonder, why might the chicken have crossed the road? Perhaps it had a reason, or perhaps it was simply instinct. Who's to say? Some food for thought."

Shirou quirked a brow.

"Good luck in the tournament, Shirou."

Zelretch would leave him on that as he waved his hand. A magic circle appeared under Shirou as light bloomed from below, and he was teleported away.

Alone, the wielder of True Magic blew out a drained sigh as he slumped unceremoniously into his chair, his head rocking back until he faced the ceiling.

"And now comes the most challenging part of all: waiting..." Zelretch's voice drifted, bouncing off the enclosed room.

"Will you finally stand with your head tall, or will you fall for good? I suppose we'll have our answer upon this tournament's end."

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

October 20, 2136. World: Midgard. Location: The Town of Und Ljósinn - The Champion Colosseum

In a blink, Shirou found himself in the chamber halls, where the rest of the competitors were waiting.

Many were caught off guard and jumped at his sudden appearance. Shirou stood stock-still, Zelretch's last words replaying in his mind.

"Emiya-san?!" A familiar voice called out.

From the side, Warrior Takemikazuchi rushed toward his friend. He let out a sigh of relief. He looked him up and down, making sure everything was alright.

"There you are! I was looking everywhere for you! I was almost afraid something bad happened to ya' and—"

The samurai's concern would be placed on hold as Shirou leaned forward, embracing Warrior Takemikazuchi's side without uttering a single word.

Warrior Takemikazuchi peered down, his eyes blinking in surprise.

It could almost be called half-a-hug as he leaned his body against the armored Heteromorph's own, leaning on him for support. Due to the Nephilim's towering height, his head hung low, resting against the samurai's side.

To any outsider, the action would seem unusual, but for Warrior Takemikazuchi, it was clear as day for him. His friend needed a shoulder to lean on, both physically and metaphorically.

Emotional displays were far from extraordinary, especially in the case of Shirou and with the recent tribulations that he and the rest of the guild members were going through. However, only in the appropriate company would he ever allow himself to indulge in his more sensitive side.

For him to do this so spontaneously...

One of Warrior Takemikazuchi's arm wrapped around him in an instant, and he reciprocated the embrace by patting his friend's back.

Their odd display of affection more than garnered the attention of the fighters in the vicinity, who were taken aback by the unexpected display of affection between two reputedly skilled and powerful Players. Several among them snickered under their breaths, pointing and mocking them.

Normally, such a display of public affection would invoke a burning sense of embarrassment from the armored Heteromorph. Especially in a crowd of so many reputable and well-known Players. He'd always fought and strived to maintain a certain persona in public. He was Warrior Takemikazuchi - the unstoppable force, as noble as he was powerful.

But in the face of his friend's ails, whatever they may be, he couldn't care less about his reputation or what others thought of him.

Warrior Takemikazuchi looked around, flashing everyone a nasty glaring emoticon. While far from intimidated, they at least turned away and minded their own business.

"You got this." Warrior Takemikazuchi whispered, loud enough that only the two of them could hear.

A glimmer of a smile cracked through for Shirou.

He didn't say, "Are you going to be okay?" or "What's wrong, can I help?"

It was a simple, resolute statement.

He believed in Shirou, that everything would be okay, and that was more than enough for him.

"Yeah…" He muttered.

Breaking away, the Bujin kept a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No... Not now."

Warrior Takemikazuchi nodded and gave a reassuring squeeze on his friend's shoulder.

"So, you mind telling me where you were? I couldn't find you anywhere. `Was afraid that you might've gotten cold feet and dipped out of the tournament."

"As if." Shirou let out a small grunt, regaining some of his spirit. "I met up with an old acquaintance... and well, let's just say that our talk went on for a little longer than expected."

A curious brow arose from hearing this. At the same time, the Nephilim samurai's ear twitched, catching an announcement. He turned his head away just as the commentators made a statement regarding the delay being resolved and that the tournament would begin properly momentarily.

Warrior Takemikazuchi looked back at Shirou, the faintest of ideas scratching against his noggin.

"You wouldn't happen to know the reason why the whole tournament was delayed, would ya'?"

"Who knows..."

Warrior Takemikazuchi snorted. That was all the confirmation he needed.

"Always full of surprises, ain't you, mate?"

Takemikazuchi chuckled as he playfully slapped Shirou's shoulder, earning a playful fist that rapped against his armor-clad chest, with the two sharing a gentle, budding laugh.

Silence played out as they waited for the final check-ins to finish up.

While waiting, Shirou's thoughts drifted back to the riddle that Zelretch left him.

On paper, it was a strange and innocuous riddle at best. Yet, no matter how many times he poured it over, he couldn't quite get rid of it.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

There wasn't some elaborate purpose or obscure reasoning behind it, nor was the setup or nature of the riddle anything less than straightforward. It was the oldest joke known to man and could be used in a multitude of ways due to its simplicity, yet Zelretch opted to use the most traditional form of the joke.

He seemed oftly fond of metaphors throughout their conversation, Shirou reminisced. So there must be a purpose behind it.

The chicken crossed the road to get to the other side. Nothing more, nothing less.

A simplistic action that bore a simple reason.

Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side. Why? Because it could. And because it could, it did. And on it went in a circle.

The very question and answer were cyclical, feeding back into itself.

With little progress made, the magus then pondered an alternative, looking at it from another angle. Another way of wording it would be, why wouldn't the chicken walk to the other side of the road? What was stopping it from happening?

The answer he came up with was nothing.

Does it need a reason?

A single question rang out.

The world around him faded as he was pulled in deeper by his inner thoughts, his mind racing with a realization.

Shirou, he was on the cusp of it. He could feel it, the faintest glimmer ahead, and all he needed to do was reach it.

But before he could explore it any further, he was taken out of his inner deduction by the gentle and persistent shaking of his friend, bringing him back to reality.

"Oi! Don't space out now, or did you forget that you picked to go first?" Warrior Takemikazuchi softly chided, reminding him that there was a tournament going on and that took precedence over everything for the moment.

"Hurry it up, or else they might disqualify your ass for holding up the tournament. Again."

Shirou rolled his eyes at the snicker, thanking him with a nod. As he turned to race off to where he needed to go, there was still one final thing the armored Heteromorph wanted to share with him before his first match.

"You remember the plan, right?"

The faker looked at him curiously. It didn't take long before a light bulb went off in his head, and he remembered exactly what his friend meant.

"Kick ass and take names?"

"Never a doubt!"

With his infectious high spirit, Shirou grinned alongside Warrior Takemikazuchi as the two fist-bumped.

"Give'em hell." The samurai waved goodbye and wished him the best of luck.

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

Standing within the dark, narrow passageway that led into the arena, Shirou stood in wait. From the shadows, he could hear the commentator's attempts at banter, the cheers of the crowd, and even distantly, he could convince himself he heard his guildmates show their support.

Yet, in this singular moment of solitude, his mind was elsewhere. In the conversation he'd held with a ghost from his past, the truths he spoke that even now he struggled to accept and even the present he'd been given. It was an incredible amount to process, too much, some would say. And with such a high-stakes event at play, the pressure only mounted.

A tempestuous storm of emotions brewed within him, enough to rack a lesser man to the point of catatonic crippleness and make even the greatest tremble in trepidation. Yet, for all the dissonance, it brought forth an unyielding sense of distant clarity unseen before within the magus.

They were still there, dwelling within, but now wasn't the time for them. Not with what was at stake.

Even as distant as he felt, trapped in a spiral of worry and self-doubt, his fist tightened. For better or worse, he'd made his choices and mistakes. What he wanted in the future was irrelevant, as the doubts that existed within were buried under a mind of steel.

In a high-stakes fight between equals, a split-second distraction or hesitation could define the difference between victory and defeat.

Losing was, and would never be, an option for him.

There'll be time afterward to sort his emotional baggage out. To finally put his old ghost to rest and decide once and for all...

But, here and now, he had a tournament to win, and not even the pain of his guilt could dull his blades.

"IT'S HIGH TIME FOR THE FIRST MATCH! AND WHAT A MATCH-UP WE HAVE HERE TODAY FOLKS TO KICK IT ALL OFF!"

"Indeed. For this opening match, we'll be starting with none other than one of the most infamous Players that have ever graced this digital landscape! He, who has had his share of mystery and embroiled in his fair share of controversy, but a man that none can deny his skills. The question is, will it be enough here today?"

"RIGHT YOU ARE SAMMIE! KNOWN AS THE BOOGEYMAN OF THE NINE REALMS. PISSING OFF WHO KNOWS HOW MANY PLAYERS ACROSS THE YEARS AND KEPT ON CHUGGING ALONG! HE, WHO HAS BEEN VOTED THE MOST HATED PLAYER IN ALL OF YGGDRASIL FOR 7 YEARS AND RUNNING!"

Shirou couldn't help but blink at that particular tidbit. There was some online screening poll where people could vote on Players they hated?

He didn't know whether to feel proud or wounded by the achievement, if one would call it that.

"GIVE IT UP FOR THE ONE, THE ONLY, THE PLAYER KILLER HIMSELF: EMIYAAAAAAA!"

Following the explosive introduction, Shirou stepped forward and out through the entryway towards the inner arena. Pyrotechnics and smoke accompanied his reveal from the entrance, making his presence a spectacle to behold as he made his appearance. The holographic screens captured his every step, broadcasting him for all to see.

Emiya – Lvl: 100 — [The Player Killer]

Thousands upon thousands of voices reverberated the moment he graced the field, the air itself shaking from the cacophony of voices. The majority of the noise was negative, with a plethora of insults, disparaging jeers, and all other manners of boo's thrown his way. It more than drowned out those who were actively cheering him on.

Despite overwhelming hostilities thrown his way, Shirou strode forward with steady steps as easily as one would stroll down a tranquil park. It was hardly anything new. It would take more than disgruntled animosity to make him lose his cool, no matter their numbers.

"Against a Player with a report as skilled as Emiya, who will have the honor of fighting against such an opponent?"

"GIVEN THAT WE ALL SAW THE FIGHTERS PICK THEIR SPOT, WE ALREADY KNOW WHO HE IS!" AND LET ME TELL YA, HE'S GONNA ROCK YOUR WORLD!"

Following the commentator's words, Shirou's attention was drawn towards the boisterous sound of whooping and hollers emanating from the direction of the entrance ahead of him. He turned his gaze upwards and saw the enthusiastic audience members seated above and adjacent to the entrance, energetically standing and wildly waving their arms and flags in the air. The sound of their stomping feet reverberated through the arena, creating an anthem-like atmosphere to welcome his opponent.

"This Player has a track record of his own, of over a six-hundred PvP matches, and no more than fifteen recorded losses in his entire career. He has won numerous tournaments and has even been a fighter in one of the previous World Champion Tournaments. It's time to see if he has what it takes to bring the title home. Given such names as The Great Goliath, The Unstoppable, or perhaps what he was better known as, "The Mountain that Crushes!" For he is, The Mountain!"

"—AND THE GUY WHO STILL OWNS ME 10,000 YEN!"

"That is beside the point—"

"THAT BASTARD HAS BEEN GHOSTING ME FOR OVER A MONTH NOW! I WANT MY MONEY, SAMMY, YOU PIECE OF SH—"

Sounds of struggle could be heard over the speakers as the announcers fought over the mic.

The entryway ahead of Shirou exploded into pyrotechnics and special effects, welcoming the Player, as the first of his many opponents made his entrance.

The Mountain – Lvl: 100 — [The Mountain that Crushes]

The Mountain certainly lived up to his name, as the Player was massive in size, eclipsing Shirou's height, and could rival Berserker in terms of sheer bulk. The Player was a mountain of a man, almost to the point of monstrousness with his towering physique and boundless muscles. A caricature of what one would picture as the pinnacle of fitness and strength.

The Player's attire consisted of a dark blue open-chest jacket vest and dark trousers, all of high quality. A thick fur mantle hung from his shoulders, made from the pelt of a Frozen Saber Fang, a level 100 mob that resided in the icy regions of Niflheim, which Shirou recognized. Tribal battle tattoos adorned much of his exposed skin, running down his broad chest and powerful log-like arms. He had two powerful-looking gauntlets equipped, with a piston-like contraption at the wrist. The Mountain had lengthy, spiky hair that was roguish in appearance and trailed down his back like the mane of a ferocious lion. He also had a long scar that ran from the top of his head, passed the left side of his eye, and ended at the base of his neck, which only complimented his battle-hardened appearance.

The Mountain swaggered forth, pausing here and there to flex, waving to the crowd or beckoning them. He took his time, making a show of it, which only served to rile the audience up to his side.

"Hit me if you can! If you smell... What! The Mountain! Is! Cooking!"

The audience erupted into further roars and cheers following his rallying cry. They chanted his name as he stood in the arena, soaking in the audience's adoration and roaring support. He struck more poses, showing off to the audience. It was a complete 180° compared to how they received the magus the first time.

Shirou briefly wondered if The Mountain was that well-liked or simply if everyone was rallying for him because they were against the magus. He'd wager it was probably a mixture of both.

The Mountain raised a single finger to the sky before levying it toward Shirou.

"Let me tell ya somethin' Mista Cool and Stoic! Ya may be big, but you ain't bad! Ya may be tough, but ya ain't The Mountain tough!" The Mountain exclaimed, his voice thick and exaggerated. It was loud enough to be heard even without the assistance of the speakers.

"Ya better have insurance on that equipment, 'cause ya takin' a one-way trip on the Pain Express and this baby ain't got no rails! Oh yeah! Ya gonna need an excavation crew to rescue ya, 'cause The Mountain's gonna win this by a landslide! Ya'll be buried deeper than six feet! You feel me fool?!"

Following his string of one-liners, Shirou chose to keep his silence, observing it all with a passive stare as the audience threw their voice in with the titanic Player. His lack of response only further emboldened the brawler's badgering.

"Scared, little man? Well, I don't blame ya. For you're up against The Mountain!" The Player flexed his gargantuan body, muscles rippling through his forearms, biceps, and pectorals.

"Mah fists are illegal in seven out of the nine realms, and after this, they'll be eight! OH YEAH! Not even ya mama'll recognize ya when I'm through with ya! Ya may have ya bows and shit, exploding stuff all ya like, but ya know what's more powerful?"

The Mountain flexed again, showing off his biceps to the crowd with another pose.

"THESE GUNS! OH, YEAH! I hope ya packed a suit, cause ya ain't going anywhere but the morgue!"

Again, Shirou didn't react, save for an unseen raised brow at all the showboating. He wondered just how much longer before the actual fighting would begin. It has been scarcely a minute, and already the Player's voice and attitude grated the magus's patience.

Seeing his words having little effect on him, The Mountain scoffed.

"What's da matter, too chicken to speak up?" He mocked, and the audience followed up with loud chicken noises.

"The Mountain heard about ya', the great Player Killer, the bane of all Humanoid Players. There are even some who have the audacity to claim that ya' are among the strongest. Pah! Nothing more than the whining of noobs and losers! Seeing ya' in person, The Mountain can't help but be disappointed."

An emoticon looking down in disgust appeared over The Mountain. Despite seeing that his words were bouncing off of Shirou like a rock against a steel wall, he continued, rambling.

"The Mountain woulda a tiny bit of respect for ya if ya' had not thrown your lot in with the freaks. And not just any ol' freak, but fucking Ainz Ooal Gown itself! Ya' a damned traitor to your kind! Though The Mountain supposed that it only made sense that a monster lover like you would be in bed with the guild of freakazoids."

For the first time, Shirou reacted. His eyebrows twitched, his lips curving into a frown. Not that anyone was able to notice it.

"The Mountain made a name for himself by crushing any sorry excuse for a Player thrown my way. From the very beginning, none was considered my equal or a threat. In this tournament, The Mountain's gonna show the world and everyone who's the best around! Tha' Mountain' is going to demonstrate what a true World Champion is like! For The Mountain's a superhuman among lesser men. The Mountain—"

"Talks too much, has anyone ever told you that?"

Though his voice was not overpowering, it possessed a subdued strength. It cleaved through the man's diatribe and was heard despite all the clamor around them. The audience quieted down slightly, curious to watch the exchange between them.

"He speaks!" The Player let out a mocking guffaw. "And here, The Mountain thought you might be mute or something."

Shirou cast a cool gaze toward him. His posture shifted slightly as his hand rested on his waist.

"You say you've found no equal, but it's been the opposite for me. For most of my life, I've fought against harsh and all-but-impossible odds. Against opponents who outstripped me in every regard. Honestly, I sometimes wonder to myself how I'm even still alive."

A soft chuckle tinged with nostalgia followed his words, drawing some confusion from those in the audience. He glanced up at the skies above, reminiscing.

"Better and stronger foes have tried their hands. And yet, here I stand, here I remain. Victorious among them all. You say you're disappointed. Well, I feel the same. Standing before me, here and now, I can tell. Mountain-san, you aren't superhuman or whatever spiel it is you believe yourself to be. No, you've simply been blessed with weak opponents."

Shirou allowed a pause before facing The Mountain in full.

"Until today."

A split-second silence engulfed the field and stadium before the world exploded into noise.

"OHHHHH SNAP! SOMEONE GET THAT MAN A POTION FOR THAT BURRRNNNNN! SHEEEEESH! HE'S NOT ONLY HERE KILLING PLAYERS, BUT HE'S ALSO THROWING SOME KILLER SHADE AS WELL! THEY DON'T CALL HIM THE PLAYER KILLER FOR NOTHING!" Bob screamed out.

Tens of thousands of voices quickly rose following Shirou's riposte. A majority were comprised of boo's and heckling, but there was a small vocal portion that was dissing The Mountain – Ainz Ooal Gown was firmly in this group.

Was it necessary for Shirou to engage him the way he did? No, not really.

Was it a bit theatric? Most certainly.

Were Shirou the only target of The Mountain's cavalcade of insults, the magus would've resolved himself to keep his silence, and that would be the end of that. But he didn't stop at him. He targeted Ainz Ooal Gown. The Mountain insulted his friends. And that, he did not forgive so easily. So he retaliated in kind.

"Big words coming from such a little man." The Mountain sneered.

"Perhaps. But what are you going to do about it, The Pebble?" Shirou egged on, smirking.

The magus swore he heard a vein pop from his forehead.

"Is that so?" Shirou could feel the simmering anger laced in his words as the giant glared daggers at him. "Let's see ya' talk big again when The Mountain breaks in fucking your face!"

"Then come, Goliath. Come and slay your David if you can, that is." Shirou coolly returned, two fingers curling in a "come at me" gesture.

"I believe we've waited long enough. We've seen a battle of words. Now, it's time for action! And I, for one, can't wait to see how the Players will use the new physics implementation to their advantage."

'New physics?' Shirou wondered. This piece of information was news to him, and he could only assume that the announcement must've been made when he was speaking with Zelretch.

Following the commentator's announcement, the arena floor glowed beneath their feet and spread, encompassing them. A familiar sensation washed over him, and in a flash of light, Shirou and his opponent found themselves elsewhere.

He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden change, only for them to narrow. He could feel the dry gust of wind, bringing with it scattered grains of sand.

As far as the eye could see, a vast and sprawling expanse of desert rolled out, with its golden sands forming gentle, undulating dunes that seemed to go on forever. A scatter of sandy ruins could be seen across the overworld. The scorching sun, with its unrelenting heat, cast a radiant glow on the sandy terrain, making it shimmer like gold. Amidst this lifeless ocean of sand, the towering presence of a magnificent pyramid loomed in the far-off distance, its grandeur and mystique only adding to the allure of the desert landscape.

'This is the same as when I was with Zelretch... No, not exactly...' He realized.

The sensation was similar but not quite the same.

When it came to DMMO-RPGs, there were certain regulations put in place to prevent the line between realism and virtual reality from being blurred any more than it already was. However, for this World Champion Tournament, it would seem that they were willing to skirt the law a little for the sake of making the competition more captivating. This was evident by the curious confusion that dominated The Mountain's avatar, which was usually adorned with a static cocksure grin, as he marveled at the changes.

"Woah..." He whispered to himself.

The Mountain looked around. He could almost taste the dryness of the air, feel the scorching heat waves prickling against his skin, and hear the rolling winds and movement of gritty sand against his ear. It felt authentic but muted enough to prevent the Player's senses from distinguishing it as too real. The last thing the developers needed was the Player's mind tricking itself into thinking it was real, especially in the case of pain.

Back in the stadium, there was a large, oddly transparent orb that held a reflective surface of where they were. Numerous large holographic screens filled the air, capturing and displaying high-definition footage of the two combatants and the battlefield in real-time from various angles.

Many within the audience discussed what they saw, noting the subtle cues and differences in the visible expressions that the two Players showed. It was certainly a notch above when compared to the previous tournaments.

A depth of realism had been added, which introduced an X factor to the matches, and all were curious to see how it might influence the fights to come.

A duel timer appeared in the air, counting down from ten.

Heterochromatic eyes surveyed the surroundings, quickly familiarizing himself with the battlefield as Kanshou and Bakuya appeared in his hand.

The Mountain reigned in his surprise. He took an informal upright stance, his fists out and his upper form pressed forward with his knees bent and ready.

Silence descended upon the audience, their undivided attention focused on the impending clash. From every corner of the nine realms, as well as the real world, many held their gaze on the spectacle, whether alone, with company, or in various locations. Anticipation filled the air, each onlooker holding their breath in eagerness for the spectacle about to unfold.

The timer hit zero with a loud buzz, and with that, the 9th World Champion Tournament officially began!

"Let's do this!" With a battle cry, The Mountain charged forward.

"[Quick Wind], [Battle Focus], [Iron Will], [Hardened Force], [Adamantium Skin], [Mana Sight], [Focus Strength], [Enhance Reflex], [Bulk Up], [Armored Defenses], [Throttle], [Greater Boost], [Fist Force], [Power Draw], [Eruption Fist]!"

The Mountain wasted no time exploding into action, his massive frame rocketing towards Shirou at speeds that beguiled the Player's large size. His tattoos gave off a colorful glow with each skill activation, no doubt a special cosmetic effect for his character.

Shirou was already in motion the moment the timer hit zero, kicking back as The Mountain rushed him down.

"Ora!" He shouted, throwing a fast but predictable straight left.

Shirou dodged the attack. An explosion followed up his attack after his fist struck and missed. Undeterred, The Mountain winded up for a wide haymaker to catch him.

Shirou proved to be elusive, dodging the attack with ease and the explosion that followed.

The Mountain's punches alone kicked up a torrent of sand and a burst of wind due to the speed and force behind them, and the explosions following each one of his strikes kept Shirou on the defensive.

The Mountain continued his rush and threw attack after attack at an unrelenting pace. Thanks to Shirou's Mind's Eye, he was able to anticipate every movement of his foe and stay one step ahead of the brawler. He may have been fast, but with his large frame, his moves were telegraphed.

During the exchange, Shirou noticed a blue glow in his opponent's eyes. What it meant, he could only speculate.

"Come on! This ain't much of a fight if you're scampering around like a mouse!" The Mountain taunted, throwing an uppercut that Shirou sidestepped.

Seeing an opening, Kanshou and Bakuya lashed out as The Mountain passed him. The black and white Noble Phantasm streaked across the Player's skin, but to no effect.

The two began with a brief exchange of blows. Shirou played it cautiously, committing to the defensive and only responding with counterattacks whenever possible. The Mountain faced no such obstacle and remained unrelenting in his pursuit, devoting himself completely to the offense. He unleashed an endless barrage of punches, jabs, and kicks, showing no signs of slowing down. Any damage done by Shirou's slashes proved to be futile, as the amount of HP deducted from The Mountain's HP bar was negligible, merely in the single digits.

'He's resilient…' A fact that was made abundantly clear, especially with the knowledge of what kind of skills he prefers.

"[Empowered Speed], [Lessen Load], [Focus Agility], [Heavy Duty], [Super Alloy], [Full Force], [Insight Sharpness], [Guardian Stand], [Giant Envy], [Titan's Force], [Scimitar Kick]!"

With another burst of empowered skills, The Mountain lashed out with a sharp low kick that glowed with the activation of the offensive skill.

Shirou leaped back, avoiding the attack, as the kick swept in, cleaving the ground and kicking up a tidal wave of sand.

The Mountain burst forth with blinding speed, catching the magus off guard while he was still off his feet.

"Gotcha! [Heavy Impact]!"

Shirou brought up Kanshou and Bakuya to defend, arcs of neon prana poured into reinforcing them as The Mountain struck with a swift and powerful straight right punch. The piston on the gauntlet fire, landing a second impact right after the first.

His arms groaned, and he could feel his bones shaking, almost buckling against the force of the one-two punch. Kanshou and Bakuya were little better, with spider cracks running across the Noble Phantasm.

The follow-up explosion from his skill, [Eruption Fist], sent him flying back.

Shirou hit the ground, which kicked up another blanket of sand as his body tumbled away. He rolled, recovering back to his feet just as quickly. Just in time too as he caught a flash of red.

"[Bala]!"

A fraction of a second later, an orb of pure crimson barreled forth from the cloud of sand toward him. Shirou rolled to the side as the ball of energy crashed against where he was and exploded, raining down further pockets of sand onto him.

Through narrowed eyes, he caught the profile of The Mountain closing the distance.

"[Bala]!" The battlemaster exclaimed, cocking his fist back before punching forward. Another destructive orb of energy fired forth from his fist.

The magus darted to the side, avoiding the attack, and more like it as The Mountain fired the skill one after another while Shirou ran, attempting to circle around. Each one exploded like a cannonball, with sand blowing up in all directions.

The attack itself didn't appear that strong, but with its size and speed, he'd imagine it would hit like a bowling ball being fired from a cannon. Though he wasn't in any hurry to learn if that was true or not.

The Mountain pulled his fist back, and Shirou preemptively rushed to dodge, but instead of a [Bala], it was something entirely different.

"[Rupture Fissure]!"

The Mountain slammed his fist forward into the sandy terrain as fissures cracked the surface, speeding towards Shirou. His eyes widened, and he jumped back. Reinforcement covered his entire body as an explosion erupted from the crack. He didn't take much damage, but it was enough to catch him off his feet.

Regaining his footing, Shirou rolled to his knees, his eyes fixed on The Mountain as he launched a [Bala] straight at him. In a split second, Shirou reacted with lightning-fast reflexes, hurling Kanshou and intercepting the attack.

The brawler charged through the smoke, closing the distance with a vicious horizontal hammer fist.

"Gotcha! [Iron Hammer]!"

Prana poured into his legs, and with an explosive kick, he dived forward, leading the attack to whiff him as he felt the wind of the blow brush past his cheek. At the same time, prana poured from the hand that once held Kanshou. He grasped the newly traced weapon and swung as they passed, slipping under his opponent's arm. The sword's sharpened blade cut into The Mountain's invincible skin, creating a shower of sparks as the two combatants passed by each other.

"Slippery lil' fucker, ain'tcha?" The Mountain grunted, equal parts amused and annoyed.

Shirou's eyes flickered from his sword to the giant's HP bar, his grimace hardening. He managed to cleave some of his health points, but like with Kanshou and Bakuya before, the damage dealt was minuscule at best, reducing his HP bar by only a sliver.

The weapon in his hand was but one of the handfuls of nameless Noble Phantasms that he copied from Gilgamesh all those decades ago. It was a nondescript Noble Phantasm, one of many that were held within the King of Heroes' illustrious Gate of Babylon. Its unique ability lies in its incredible sharpness. It was similar to Durandal but vastly inferior when compared to the peerless holy blade. However, it served as a good measuring point.

A cursory lull settled over the battlefield after the first fierce exchange. The two Players kept their distance, sizing each other up.

For Shirou, the pieces of the puzzle were slowly aligning, and taken as a whole, he'd come to a good idea of The Mountain's build and subsequent fighting style.

The standoff was broken as The Mountain broke into a charge, and thus, the match resumed.

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

Warrior Takemikazuchi observed the match with keen eyes, arms crossed, and motionlessness. From the waiting wing, he and the others watched on as the match progressed. Shirou and The Mountain engaged in another brief but furious exchange, with the magus managing to allude to the brawler's reach once more.

'A CQC expert that specializes in heavy infighting at close to medium range with ranged attack skills to either stagger or help close the distance against any opponent. Talk about a nasty combo. You've got a tough customer on your hand, Emiya-san.' Warrior Takemikazuchi observed, using the information he had already gleaned from the fight.

Warrior Takemikazuchi's eyes drifted briefly from the screen, glancing at his fellow fighters.

Absent of the roaring cheers, the waiting wing stood in stark contrast to the stadium. Hushed were the fighters as they stood or sat with their eyes glued to the screen, watching the match unfold before them. No doubt committing the fight to memory and strategizing for if or when they might fight against the victor.

"For all his shit-talking, he's sure having a hard time landing a good hit on him."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Emiya-san is good. I wish they would get on with it before the match becomes a bore."

"It's only a matter of time before The Mountain catches him."

Only the barest of whispers were exchanged between neighbors. Warrior Takemikazuchi kept an idle ear open, giving them only a passing interest as he casually listened in. Others idly joined in, jostling the discussion as comments filtered through the air regarding the direction of the fight.

Despite the numerous remarks flying around, he and the rest of the fighters knew that it was far from as simple or one-sided as they were making it out to be.

He and Shirou have trained and fought against one another for years, and Warrior Takemikazuchi could easily tell the difference. While it was true that Shirou had yet to land a substantial attack on The Mountain, it was more so because he was choosing to keep ahead of him by focusing on the defensive.

Or perhaps it was more prudent to say that he was not committing himself to the offensive just yet.

The stance and the tempo with which The Mountain held himself and fought had a free-form flow to them. It was reminiscent of a skilled street boxer, although not quite professional, as Warrior Takemikazuchi would wager.

Nevertheless, there was a discernible discipline in his form and technique, likely honed over years of practice and play. His style was tailored to aggressive, close-range combat, always on the offensive. The manner in which he unleashed a rapid flurry of blows and chains his attack, even if they didn't land, kept his opponents under constant pressure and gave them no time to react or retaliate. The bruiser's compendium of enchantment and defensive skills meant he could afford to be hyper-aggressive while tanking any attacks thrown his way.

His method of attack was far from complex, but thanks to its sheer simplicity, it was tricky to definitively counter.

'Huh, it ain't all that different from my own.' The Nephilim mused.

' `Course, the biggest difference between us is—'

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

Growing thoroughly incensed by the constant slog match, The Mountain switched up his tactic, going for a more dynamic approach.

"[Power], [Force Multiplier], [Zen Spirit], [Flight Footwork], [Ironclad], [Overwork], [Heavy Duty], [Greater Resistance], [Maximum Weight], [Overwhelming Strength], [Core Burst], [Fortitude], [Unstoppable Rampage]!" The Mountain yelled, calling upon even more skills.

A fierce gust of sand was kicked up as the wall of muscle charged towards Shirou. The silver-haired Player jumped away as he crashed into the mound where he once stood, obliterating the sand dune.

Yet, the Mountain paid no heed to the magus's escape and charged forth once more, with the same fury as a rampaging bull.

Shirou braced himself and reinforced his leg, propelling himself to the side to evade the Mountain's assault. The outcome remained unaltered as the attack demolished yet another sand mound and sent sand flying in all directions.

'With that kind of momentum and force, it'll be impossible for him to dodge or make any course corrections. But then again, he probably doesn't need to. One mistimed dodge, one mistake, and I'll be in a world of pain.' Shirou observed.

Close-quarter combat was ill-advised. The brief and subsequent skirmishes told him all that he needed to know about his opponent's inherent defenses and strength. Distance would be his ally until the time was right for him to go all in.

And he needed to put as much distance between himself and the Mountain as he could.

The Mountain charged a third time, but this time he prepared for something new. The heavyweight bruiser jumped high into the air as he gained speed, arms outstretched as he brought them downward with thunderous force.

"[Sheer Velocity], [Full Mantle], [Titanic Surge], [Greater Force], [Heavy Downfall]!"

Shirou realized what he was doing and acted just as quickly.

With a forceful stomp, arcs of prana flowed forth and coalesced into an enormous greatsword beneath his feet. In an instant, he took off, balanced atop the sword as it flew through the air.

Due to the unique properties of his projected Noble Phantasms, one of his guildmates pointed out an application he could try with them. Ancient One commented on how Shirou could technically fly if he were to stand atop a large enough sword and have it shoot through the air like how he normally fires his projections.

It was meant entirely as a joke, but the idea had such merit that Shirou couldn't help but try it out. Thus, sword flying was created, an imitation of the [Fly] spell that he kept in his back pocket for greater mobility.

He left at the right time as The Mountain crashed back down like a screaming meteorite.

It was in mid-air that he bore witness to The Mountain's destructive capability. The desert ground where he once stood all but imploded, rupturing from the force behind his attack and leaving behind only a crater. The attack created a mushroom cloud of sand that reached up to the skies.

Shirou managed to get away, but the booming shockwave that followed caught up to him.

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

'—Would have to be the difference that lies in the nature of their builds.' Touch Me compared.

The variety of skills The Mountain displayed throughout the match were ones commonly used by tanks and the like. Touch Me knew several of them, having seen them used by the likes of Bukubukuchagama and Variable Talisman before. Only instead of the Player using it defensively, he employs the skills offensively.

The secret behind The Mountain's build lies in its central components. The bruiser specs towards tank-oriented classes, which served as the core of his build and complement his brawler playstyle. If Touch Me were to make an educated guess, he would reckon that The Mountain had a hybrid build, combining the sturdy defenses and survivability of [Tank] classes with the offensive capabilities of the [Monk] and [Brawler] archetypes and subclasses. This assumption was based on The Mountain's clear preference for self-enchantment and unarmed combat.

From the start, he has demonstrated an extensive reliance on enchantment skills, far beyond what was typically seen in warrior-type Players. All these buffs bolster his stats and toughness to the absolute limit, making the Player an absolute juggernaut on the battlefield.

The Mountain's entire body was a weapon. His body was like a fortress, and his arms were like cannons. Especially when enhanced beyond their physical limits.

"Damn, that's some power." Duskindal whistled at the destructive display from The Mountain's [Heavy Downfall]. He sat with his hands folded behind his head in a carefree manner, comfortably slouched in his seat.

Touch Me silently agreed.

The screen showed Shirou caught in the blast of the shockwave; his footing on his flying sword destabilized, and he was in free fall.

Touch Me's mind drew a comparison between The Mountain to his rival and friend, Warrior Takemikazuchi.

Both employed highly offensive-oriented playstyles, using their innate expertise and personal prowess to overcome their respective builds limitations, supplemented further by their skills. Warrior Takemikazuchi has his mastery of kenjutsu, while The Mountain has his pseudo-boxing style as his base.

His fighting style and build worked hand in hand, synergizing dangerously well together and making the hulking brawler more than formidable and lethal. The Mountain could take a beating thrown his way and dish it right back in spades.

He put the adage "The greatest defense is a powerful offense" into practice.

For all of The Mountain's showboating and arrogance, the Player had the skills and strength to back up his conceit. Then again, the World Champion of Álfheim shouldn't have expected otherwise. It would've been an insult to the credibility and legacy of the World Champion Tournament if he were merely a lumbering brute.

"So far, it ain't looking so good for Emiya-san. He might want to start pulling out those fancy tricks that we've been hearing about if he wants to do any real damage against that kind of defense." Said ShikiHime.

"Is that so? From where I'm standing, I'd say he's doing quite well for himself despite the circumstances." Touch Me maintained, sitting in his seat with his hands clasped under his chin.

"Maybe, but your bud can't play hooky forever. Something's gotta give and it's only a matter of time before he either slips up and gives The Mountain an opening or the man's going to start wising up to his tricks and catch him."LichtKing commented from his seat next to Touch Me.

"He won't have to. If I know Emiya-san, he's biding his time, waiting for his opportunity — patience will always triumph over hastiness. Besides, The Mountain is far from untouchable by the hands of time."

The Mountain's playstyle was undoubtedly deadly, but it was far from flawless. His build's greatest drawback coincidentally lies in its greatest strength. While his arsenal of skills was no doubt vast, it was ultimately finite. At the accelerated rate he was burning through his skills, it granted him immediate, tremendous strength, enough to overpower any opponent before they could have a chance to retaliate. However, it was impossible to maintain such output for an extensive amount of time.

As the saying goes, a fire that rages twice as hot burns out twice as fast.

Rush-down Players were notoriously ill-suited for prolonged battles. If one could either hold their ground against The Mountain's relentless assault or keep ahead of him and draw out the fight, then he'll be forced to expend more and more, diminishing his strength as the fight drags on.

"In other words, The Pebble's weakness is that he goes in hard and fast right off the bat, and if Emiya-san can out endure him, he'll blow all his load and be limp for the rest of the fight." Duskindal chimed in, snickering.

The sound of groans filled the room.

"How immature." Belladonna sniffed, casting a disgruntled look his way.

"Not the words I'd personally use, but you're entirely not wrong." Touch Me snorted at the double-entendre.

"While that's certainly a factor, it won't mean much if Emiya-san doesn't take the initiative and go on the offensive. If he plans on waiting it out completely, he's bound to slip up eventually." Wishful Mercí pointed out.

"I know, and so does he." Touch Me replied, turning back to the match. "Believe me when I say you haven't seen anything yet."

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

Flipping through the air, Shirou called upon his black bow. With unparalleled dexterity, he traced and loosed a barrage of empowered arrows upon The Mountain. His feat of acrobatics wowed the audience watching as he counterattacked while falling. His rapid descent and positioning did little to hinder his aim as each arrow found its mark, exploding against his opponent's vital areas.

Much like before, however, hardly any damage reflected off his HP bar, and the Player's taunting laughter echoed through the air.

"Ha! That almost tickles!" The Mountain bellowed, his confidence unshaken.

The Mountain kicked off out of the crater and charged, aiming for where Shirou would land.

"[Trace Bullet]!"

The air lit up as swords were traced and fired alongside his volley of arrows. The Mountain tried to weave the incoming bombardment of explosive projectiles, but unlike his arrows, they were capable of course correction. Although they didn't deal significant damage, their aim was to impede his momentum. Pockets of sand ruptured around and beneath his feet, staggering the goliath along his path. With a fluid motion, Shirou twirled and landed, skidding safely to a stop with a familiar, twisted, corkscrew-shaped sword in his hand.

"My core is..." He chanted, notching Caladbolg II back. The air rippled as arcs of prana poured forth, flowing into the helical arrow.

Although he managed to delay The Mountain, it wouldn't be enough to fully complete his incantation, but that was within acceptable parameters.

With a resounding boom, Shirou released Caladbolg II, the corkscrew sword flying towards the brawler with incredible speed and force.

The Mountain was well aware of Shirou charging up an attack and anticipated it. He planned to sidestep the attack at the last second, his leg already pivoting to dodge the moment he saw the faker's fingers let go of the arrow. However, he had underestimated the Noble Phantasm's speed in comparison to Shirou's other projectiles.

The Mountain didn't even have time to blink before the arrow closed the distance between them, its dreaded spiraling form barreling towards him. The heavyweight Player didn't even see it travel. One moment it was over there, and the next it was less than a meter in front of him. It was as if the distance, space itself, between the two fighters was completely twisted away by the arrow, leaving him no room to react in time.

'S-shit!' His eyes widened.

In the split second before it would hit him, The Mountain managed to wedge his right arm in the arrow's path, bracing himself for what was to come. In the next, he was engulfed in a powerful, super-heated explosion, leaving him reeling from the impact.

Caladbolg II detonation razed the desert field, kicking up a dust storm of ochre sand and blazing conflagration. In the engulfing flames, the immediate surroundings of the desert were glassed from the sheer heat of the attack, leaving only a haze of coarse sand and a garden of hot glass.

The Mountain roared, emerging from the cloud of smoke. While far from fatal, Caladbolg II inflicted a hefty amount of damage, reducing the gargantuan Player's HP down to the high yellow range.

However, that wasn't all it did.

"Ww-what the hell!?"

The Mountain faltered in his steps as he saw the damage done to him. The arm that he used to defend was left a mangled mess that hung limply against his side. His confident façade stripped away, revealing genuine shock and horror at what he saw.

He almost had a freakout, but his mind quickly picked up the discrepancies. For one, he felt no pain, thankfully. Secondly, he could still feel his actual arm and move it; it was just that the limb in question didn't obey due to its mutilated state.

He managed to calm down, but he couldn't look away. The excruciating detail of the bloodied and twisted arm captured his attention. It was not just him but also everyone watching. It was a far cry from what YGGDRASIL typically reveled in, and it drew the morbid curiosity of all those watching.

'Interesting...' Shirou took note of his reaction.

"[Accelerated Healing], [Dispel Weakness], [Frenzy Sort], [Natural Strength], [Hidden Boost]!" The Mountain shook away his stupor.

The glow of the activation of skills focused on his arm, and in no time, his arm was back to normal.

He inspected the restored arm, moving it and flexing his fingers for good measure.

"Nice try, but don't think it'll be that easy!"

The Mountain regained his momentum and rushed Shirou down, his fist firing forth to cave in the magus's head.

Shirou was already ready for him.

"Trace on!"

"[Bazooka Fist]!"

A burst of prana bloomed from his leg as he stomped the ground. They coursed from his limb, spreading through the sand like ripples in a pond. In an instant, a towering shield emerged from below, intercepting the oncoming attack

The sheer force of his punch against the shield caused the air and ground to tremble violently. The sound of metal creaking and cracking echoed through the air as the shield strained under the pressure. But it held, delaying The Mountain and giving him time to jump back and gain distance from his opponent.

"Where ya' running?! The Mountain just wanna give ya' a hug!" He yelled, goading Shirou as he smacked his projection to pieces.

"How about you start fighting like a man instead of a bitch-ass archer?!"

"Very well then." The magus muttered imperceptibly.

Skidding to a stop, his bow dispelled into a stream of prana. His fingers closed in, willing the new weapon to take form with a twirl. In his hand was a long, ornate, shining golden and ivory lance.

"En Garde."

The Mountain blinked in honest surprise. After everything he'd seen, he didn't think that the Player Killer would take him up on his words. Even he knew that the best course of action against himself was to play it safe and keep out of his reach.

That didn't stop the bloodthirsty grin that spread across his face. He was getting bored playing hooky and was eager to return the favor for what he did to his arm.

"FIRST SWORDS, NEXT WERE BOW AND ARROWS ALONG WITH FIRING SWORDS LIKE MISSILES, THEN CAME A SHIELD, AND NOW A LANCE! IS THERE ANYTHING THIS MAN CANNOT MAKE?!"

"Indeed, I find myself quite curious as well. But the question of the hour is, will Emiya be able to pull out the correct weapon for the job? It seems he has finally decided to take The Mountain up on his challenge. One must wonder if this new weapon that he has summoned will be enough to turn the tide of battle for him."

The commentators could be heard, stirring up the crowd, but to the two combatants, they were nothing but white noise. The only thing that mattered was their opponent and winning.

The lines of Reinforcement along his legs glowed brightly as Shirou took off with a burst of speed, meeting The Mountain's charge for the first time head-on.

'I need to time this right or else...'

As both fighters drew closer, they prepared themselves. The Mountain reared his arm back, a textbook example of a right straight with all his weight behind it. For Shirou, golden light radiated from the tip of his lance as he drew back his arm, readying his thrust.

'Now!'

As the two met, they unleashed their attacks.

What looked to be a predictable right straight punch, The Mountain switched it up at the last second. He outstretched his arm in a lariat, ready to clothesline his opponent. One that might've hit had the astute faker not anticipated it.

In a deft and graceful move, Shirou bent his knee and body, executing a powerslide. His back and legs slid against the sandy ground, his quick reflexes and momentum carried him smoothly as he skidded under the giant's swinging arm, narrowly avoiding a heavy hit. His lance struck the scrapper's knee as they drifted past one another.

The Mountain's hands dug into the sand, anchoring him as he swung right around. This quick maneuver saw him ready to charge at the projection user once more, only for his body to tilt and stumble, hitting the ground much to his confusion.

"What the hell?!" He exclaimed, seeing what was wrong.

Much of his right leg was gone, leaving a stump with golden light bleeding from it as everything below his thigh disintegrated away, robbing him of his balance.

Shirou swerved right back around, catching The Mountain's gaze. A mixture of bewilderment and, for the first time, genuine fear.

[The Trap of Argalia: Down with a Touch! – Divine Tier Lance]

This Noble Phantasm was created in YGGDRASIL, and it was all thanks to Assassin's help. Thanks to the flavor text of his NPC Servants, Shirou had access to not only their bios and personalities but also their history, including past summonings. Assassin was once summoned in a Holy Grail War—the Great Holy Grail War, to be exact—to the Black Faction. While the flavor text only provided a general summarization of the events of the Holy Grail War, with the finer details being sparse, it provided Shirou with enough information to take an interest in the Rider of Black and the Noble Phantasm that he possessed.

The Noble Phantasm utility intrigued him, and he sought to add it to his ever-growing arsenal. It was an unconventional weapon, but in this particular scenario, it was just what Shirou needed.

Slashing damage wouldn't be enough, and piercing damage didn't quite cut it for him, and if his usual ranged methods fell short, a different strategy was needed.

Such as inflicting bludgeoning damage. And for that, he needed to render his opponent immobile.

Shirou dashed forward, confronting The Mountain before he had a chance to recover. He swung with the lance and mid-swing, The Lance of Argalia dissipated into motes, replaced with a familiar burst of prana. His finger tightened, grasping the handle of his newly projected weapon as it took form in time to land a brutal blow against The Mountain's head.

The Mountain's vision shook violently as he felt something heavy strike him. His head bounced against the sandy ground, recoiling from the sheer force of the attack. Wide eyes search for the source, falling upon the weapon Shirou now wields.

He almost mistook it for a sword at first, seeing as that was all the Player Killer has shown a propensity for, but on closer inspection, it was more appropriate to call it a club. The weapon looked rather large and cumbersome, with a bulbous end with ridges at the top instead of a sharpened edge. The weapon consisted of dull, blackened metal with smudges of crimson, as if it had been bloodied. A weapon that lacked a certain elegance when compared to his previous Noble Phantasm, but one that was just as brutally effective and well-suited to getting the results he wanted.

[Nægling: Iron Hammer Snake Smash - Divine Tier Sword]

Shirou swung again as the Mountain hurried to defend himself with one of his arms. Nægling collided, his body rattling from the heavy hit, knocking the appendage away.

The Mountain allowed himself to smirk. He used one of his arms to take the attack, giving him a chance to retaliate when the magus's guard was open after the initial heavy swing with his other fist. However, the brawler wasn't the one with the same idea, as Shirou's other hand was far from idle.

Before the Player could get a skill out, his vision rattled once more as his head was smacked to the side. Shirou had traced a second Nægling and swung in the interim of his recovery, using the momentum behind his initial swing to swing again.

Again, Shirou noticed the same blue glow in his eyes as before as The Mountain glared at him.

"B-bbastard!" He gritted out.

The Mountain's vision swam under the brutal assault, his head staggering with every heavy strike, which left him discombobulated as he struggled between recovering his focus and defending. It was this split-second recovery delay between these two actions that Shirou took advantage of. Both his arms worked dexterously with one another, moving to attack and intercept simultaneously and each flowing into the next seamlessly, leaving The Mountain with very little time to recover.

Shirou effectively had The Mountain in a stun lock.

This continued as Shirou slowly whittled his HP down further and further, much to the Player's mounting frustration and encroaching dread. For the first time in the match, The Mountain felt a stab of fear shoot through his heart.

"HOT DAMN, EMIYA SURE ISN'T LETTING UP! THE MAN IS RELENTLESS IN HIS ATTACK. HE'S BEATING THE MOUNTAIN'S LIKE A DAMN DRUM!"

With the audience, many in the crowd were yelling for The Mountain to get back up or belittling him while those cheering Shirou on shouted waves of encouragement. Particularly Ainz Ooal Gown.

"WOOOOO! Whoop his ass, senpai! Show him who's daddy!" Peroroncino howled.

"P-pero!" Reina chided.

"What? It's not like I'm the only one." The archer jabbed his thumb next to him.

"Kick the bastard's teeth in Shirou-kun!" Bukubukuchagama yelled alongside the others.

"Break the motherfucker's face in!" Destana shouted as well with a wild grin, wrangling Momonga in while he tried to keep up with his rowdy girlfriend.

Back with the fight, The Mountain grew incensed by the second under Shirou's assault. He needed to get free and quick.

"RARRGH!"

Taking a gamble, he forgoed any further attempts at freeing himself and focused his efforts on defending against the brunt of the attacks. Despite his health points dwindling lower and lower, The Mountain bided his time, waiting for the slightest opportunity to present itself. And when it finally did, he seized it without hesitation.

The Mountain lunged forward, timing it the moment Shirou hit him with Nægling, the fraction of a second where he couldn't immediately follow it up. His tree-trunk-sized arms wrapped around the silver-haired Player, bringing the magus down with him.

The two Players engaged in a fierce struggle, their bodies tumbling and rolling across the sand and ending with the man on top of Shirou. The magus wrangled against the brawler, but it was little use. The latter's larger size gave him a distinct advantage, allowing him to keep Shirou pinned down with a vice-like grip. The magus let out a pained groan as he felt his chest and ribs being constricted as The Mountain's larger body pressed down on him. They wrestled some more until he projected several swords above them.

With their position as they were, he didn't have to worry too much about splash damage as they rocketed downward. They struck the battle master's backside, exploding and damaging him. Enough to the point where he loosened his hold on him, allowing the projection user to escape.

He kicked the brawler's body, trying to scramble away. Only for The Mountain to grab ahold of his leg, catching him.

The two locked eyes as he felt himself being lifted up.

'Oh, shii—!'

Shirou felt vertigo take him as he was violently pulled off the ground.

Dangling upside down, The Mountain swung him against the ground. Shirou's body bounced harshly against the sand, disorienting him.

The Mountain didn't hold anything back as he pulled back and swung again with all his might, leaving Shirou to brace himself.

It was a rather comical sight for those watching the fight, seeing the titan of a Player swinging another person around like one of those old-timey slapstick cartoons.

As Shirou was lifted up yet again, he was ready this time. He struck with Nægling, a direct hit to the Player's cranium as he was held aloft over the man mid-swing.

It worked as both of them fell to the ground, disoriented. The magus was the first to recover, rolling away and jumping back to his feet. However, The Mountain recovered just as quickly.

"[Rupture Force]!" Both his hands slammed into the ground, and orange light poured forth from the sea of sand beneath them.

Shirou was forced to back off and disengage as an explosive force rocked the ground beneath, kicking up another miniature sandstorm. He was knocked back as wild wind and sand obscured everything in sight.

The faker recovered, wobbly but far from shaken, and rolled to his knees, eyes squinting and searching.

He saw a shadow, seeing it shift in place alongside The Mountain's faint and fragmented voice being heard over the blistering wind. He sprinted forward, reasoning that The Mountain was using this as a distraction to regain his footing and retreat.

However, this was a misplay on Shirou's part.

Through the obscuring cloud of sand, he came upon the Mountain taking a crouch start stance. He lowered his posture and center of gravity as low as possible. His knee was taut and bent, resembling a coiled spring, ready to be released at any moment. His arms laid against the sandy ground, helping to balance his form. Even with only one leg and less than stable footing and posture, he was able to unleash his skill.

The Mountain didn't retreat, as Shirou thought he would. Instead, he was waiting for him.

And Shirou walked right into it.

"[Fa Jin]!"

When the two separated, The Mountain activated the skill [Fa Jin] under the cover of sand to conceal and prepare himself for Shirou. The ability was an enhancement skill that allowed the user to build up energy by charging up a move. Which could then be transferred over as kinetic energy and empower their next skill dramatically. The longer a Player could hold and stockpile this energy, the more powerful it would be.

Although it hadn't been long since he activated it, no more than ten seconds, it would give his attack an added punch.

"[Raging Vigor]!"

With a powerful and booming stomp, The Mountain released his charged attack. His hulking frame blurred as if fired from a cannon as his entire body slammed directly into Shirou's center mass. The faker barely had time to bring up his arms in defense before he was struck. He sucked in a sharp breath as both his arms all but caved inward. Lances of white-hot pain blossomed from his chest and arms at the center of impact, spreading across his body. The attack alone knocked him straight into the mid-yellow, even with Reinforcement boosting him.

Shirou was sent catapulting backward from the attack, hitting and ragdolling against the rough desert terrain several times before coming to a stop as he smashed into a dilapidated pillar of a small ruin. One of many that were scattered across the arid landscape.

The sun-baked earth received him with a resounding thud, sending shockwaves through his body and robbing him of his breath. His chest heaved with the effort to inhale, but the searing heat and dust-filled air only added to his distress. He coughed fervently, desperately attempting to catch his breath.

At the stadium, the screens showed a close-up of the infamous Player Killer on his back, capturing every excruciating detail of his face twisting in pain. Seeing Shirou in such a state earned more mocking scoffs and eye rolls from the audience. After all, if The Mountain didn't reach in such a manner when injured, then why now him? They didn't believe it for a second.

Jeers and comments on how he was faking it or how he should stop being a wimp and get back up filled the air.

Ainz Ooal Gown, his closest friends, especially, were anything but amused.

"Grr! Why those no-good...! I'll show them!" Bukubukuchagama growled, her real voice leaking through.

"Easy girl, easy." Yamaiko whispered, holding back the slime from going wild.

"Come on... Heal yourself..." Momonga whispered, his leg bouncing restlessly at the sight of his long-time friend in pain.

Thanks to Avalon, he recovered enough to will out a command.

"Activate: [Boost Magic: Sacred Twilight]!" One of his rings, Draupnir, glowed.

The ring was a Divine tier magical item that was gifted to Shirou years ago by Momonga. The item bore the name of the ring gifted to Odin in Norse mythology.

It was a magic ring that stored up to twelve magic spell slots that he could use at any time. The ring held a reserve of only twenty-four MP, and the spells contained within could only be 8th tier and below, but he had access to meta magic.

A small white magic circle appeared over the azure gemstone. White healing light with motes of twilight washed over him as his bones and wounds were stitched up. The pain subsided following his HP regeneration back into the green. He sucked out a ragged gasp, catching his breath.

"[Recovery], [Greater Boost], [Unbreakable Will], [Steadfast], [Warrior Spirit], and [Bestial Regeneration]!"

The Mountain's tattoo shone brightly, followed by a discharge of steam as he used more of his skills to dispel the effect on his leg in addition to regenerating his HP. A hand clutched his forehead as he steadied his dizzying head.

Both fighters struggled to their feet, eyes set on each other and glaring as a small reprieve settled down amidst the fighting.

"Alright, The Mountain will give it to ya'. Ya' strong, but it's gonna take a lot more to bring down The Mountain!"

"...Mountains becoming hills, weathered by time. Yet, a hill will be a mountain for ants, and ants alone. You are but a carp trying to convince others otherwise."

The two briefly exchanged, back on their feet. Despite the distance, they heard one another all too easily.

"Wordy little bastard, aren't ya?" The Mountain snarked. "Let's see if ya wax that poetic bullshit when The Mountain smashes your face in!"

"The Mountain ought to stop referring to himself in the third person." Shirou groused at his reductive manner of speech.

Outwardly, The Mountain scoffed, but inwardly, he was far warier. Though he may project himself as a strongman, he did not get where he was by relying on the strength of his build alone.

He had heard the rumors regarding the Player Killer, but he always doubted the true validity of them. However, only a fool would completely ignore them, for all rumors have some basis of truth in them.

'This fight went on for far too long.' The Mountain mused. An obvious and pointless observation considering what he'd already seen, but one that filtered through his thoughts nonetheless.

The Mountain's winning strategy was rather simple, rush down his opponent and crush them before they have a chance to retaliate or become a threat. The longer the fight draws out, the more his chances of winning decreased.

The titanic Player had planned to blitz Shirou down and beat him well and truly before he even had a chance to pull out his tricks.

A plan that thoroughly failed, and now he needed to formulate a counterstrategy and quickly.

But what raked him the most was the fact that Shirou, a Player with objectively weaker stats than his own was able to corner and, even to an extent, overpower him. It was a bruise to his ego, knowing that he purposely picked the first match against the Faker Player, confident in his build and skills to beat him, only to be put on the backfoot.

'Despite the trade-off, he knows my build's weakness, and he has the methods to counter it. He'll be a fool not to keep to hit-and-run tactics, just like in the beginning. Or he might feel emboldened by the fight and try again, seeing as how he got me on my knees with just that lance and those clubs… I could try playing it safe as well, run away, and try to force him to come to me instead of the other way around. But that's not counting on what else he might have hidden under his sleeves. Especially if he can fire off more of that powerful arrow or worse. Damnit!'

The Mountain was conflicted, his teeth grinding together at the feeling of being pressed against a wall. Much of his hesitation lay in the mystery that he had no true idea what else Shirou could pull out.

He needed time, time to work out a counterstrategy.

Time that, unfortunately, he would not be given, for while Shirou was known to be a generous man, he had no intention of allowing the man to recover.

'He's cautious.' Shirou observed.

YGGDRASIL didn't support facial animation. At times, it proved to be both a help and a hindrance. It was useful as a mask, a shield to conceal one's true thoughts. In this moment however, all of his opponent's emotions and little intricacies that would normally be hidden away were on full display for the magus. A fact that no doubt slipped The Mountain's mind at the moment. The creases on his forehead, the sweat trickling down his cheek, the twitching of his brows, and the strained curve of his lips told him exactly what he needed to know.

His frustration and hesitance were clear to see, and that was to Shirou's advantage.

He jerked forward, faking a move as The Mountain reacted. He flinched back, his body tense and ready to turn and run on the dime if need be.

'He's waiting to see what I'll do next and reacting accordingly.' Shirou recognized.

Shirou knew better than to rush in and press his advantage so hastily. He may have a slight advantage at the moment, but that could all change, for no fight was assured until the very end.

He couldn't help but think of a vermin, one who'd been scorned and now was ready to do anything to escape. A useful mindset, certainly, but nothing new.

A cornered beast may be dangerous, but a one-trick pony was ever so predictable. All he had to do was make him dance to a familiar tune and make his opponent come to him instead...

His hand gripped around the length of a bow that had yet to exist. A single thought could change that, granting him a range advantage that his opponent would struggle to overcome.

So, a thought he gave and a weapon he received, along with its deadly munition. Now, it was time to see how far the mountain reaches before it plateaus!

'It's time to bring this match to a close.'

Eyes narrowing, Shirou planned his endgame.

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

"WHOO-WEE! NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALLED A THROWDOWN!" The voice of Bob echoed out, drawing roars from the audience after witnessing the intense exchange between the two combatants.

"`COURSE, NOW THEY'RE JUST STARING AT ONE ANOTHER. ANY LONGER, AND I'D WONDER IF THIS MATCH SUDDENLY TURNED INTO A STARING CONTEST."

Many shared the commentator's sentiment, wanting the fight to resume after almost a minute of an impasse between The Mountain and Shirou.

"It's not that surprising." Sam added. "Though brief, both Players got their fair share of licks in. It's only natural that they would both be on alert for each other."

"RIGHT YOU ARE MY FRIEND, BUT THIS MATCH HAS TO END SOMETIME TODAY. THE QUESTION IS, WHO WILL TAKE THE WIN?! WILL THE MUSCLEBOUND MONARCH CLOBBER HIS WAY TO VICTORY OR WILL THE PLAYER KILLER ADD ANOTHER NAME TO HIS LIST?!"

Shirou made the first move.

With a swift motion, he extended his arm in a broad sweep, calling forth a surge of prana as the air shimmered, coalescing into weapons once more, including his trusty black bow. The Mountain fortified himself with another set of skills and pivoted to make a break for it. However, instead of firing at him, they fired downward, littering the ruin's ground around the silver-haired Player.

The Mountain blinked, and the action was mirrored by those in the audience. He would have little time to wonder further as arrows rained down upon him to little effect, much like before. He looked back, catching the archer seemingly retreating; the gap between them stretched.

"Shit..." He cursed under his breath.

Shirou wasn't giving him any more time. The longer he hesitated, the further the distance between them would widen.

With a stomp, he chased after his opponent, vigilant for any more tricks that he might pull out.

The Mountain's eyes tracked him as Shirou deftly circled around a nearby dune and was out of his sight.

Suddenly, a violent explosion erupted from the very mound of sand that the faker hid behind, leaving a spiraled hole at the base of the dune. An all-too-familiar spiral-shaped arrow shot towards The Mountain, coming in low and fast.

Like before, The Mountain found himself with scarcely any time to react as the arrow struck his leg. He took the full brunt of the explosion. The Mountain lurched, tumbling against the sand.

His eyes immediately went to his legs, and no surprise, they were a mess. The leg that was struck, his left, was nearly gone, with only bits of flesh and strands of meat and muscle hanging limply from the limb. His right leg also suffered damage, being twisted and burned due to the arrow's special property, but not to a significant degree.

Again, the detail of the damage and gore stunned him, but he was quicker to react this time around.

Another set of skills restored his limbs.

He looked up, his eyes squinting before widening as he barely made out Shirou's silhouette across the horizon, shimmering as if some desert mirage.

The gap between them stretched even further.

The Mountain could barely make out Shirou looking back at him. In his hand was another Caladbolg II, showing it off as if deliberately calling attention to it.

Desperation rose within him as he forgoed tactics and rushed after the crimson archer, doing all he could to close the distance between them. He dismissed the volley of arrows as useless. What took precedence were those spiral arrows.

'Just how many of them does he have?!' The Mountain felt sweat rolling down his face.

With such a distance separating them and clear lines of sight on the man, the archer was in his element.

He watched as Shirou came to a stop and nocked back his arrow. He could see it glowing, the air around him vibrating with power.

The Mountain recognized he was charging up an attack, just like before. If the arrows he fired before were at their weakest, he did not want to think about what a fully charged attack would do.

The Mountain burned through his reserve of skills, increasing his speed and defenses and using whatever he could to shorten the gap between them.

He managed to close the distance between them, some fifteen meters or so.

The two locked eyes. He feared for the worst when the arrow seemed primed and ready, only for the unexpected to happen.

Both the bow and arrow dissipated into motes of light.

The Mountain blinked oddly at what he just saw. Shirou didn't give him a moment to think as he rushed headlong toward the Player.

The battlemaster froze before skidding to a stop, hastily preparing himself for the confrontation.

"[Counter Guard]!"

His skill activated, and he took a stance. This skill boosted his defenses, and whenever an enemy landed an attack, it allowed him to land an immediate counter.

The Mountain anticipated an attack, but yet again, Shirou did something out of the ordinary. Stepping within reach of him, the magus swerved, dashing to the side and avoiding him completely.

The two locked eyes. Shirou's face gave nothing away from his action.

He continued running away, forcing The Mountain to give chase once more.

To say that The Mountain was puzzled would be putting it lightly. He couldn't make sense of what exactly the silver-haired Player was up to.

'Why did he not shoot that arrow? Even at that distance, it wasn't like he would be caught in the explosion. He could've easily used it to damage me and make me use the last of my regen skills. Now, he's running away even when he can already take me on in a straight-up fight… Is he just playing it extremely cautiously, or is he trying to buy time as well to come up with a proper plan of attack?'

His mind tried to rationalize Shirou's bizarre actions, only to fall short as their fight devolved into him passively fleeing while keeping The Mountain just out of arm's reach.

Why was he constantly running? Why didn't he employ his powerful abilities? Was it because he didn't have the opportunity with The Mountain hot on his trail? Or, was it because he couldn't?

These questions were shared by not only The Mountain but also those watching.

Many in the audience voiced their displeasure at the sudden direction of the fight. They clamored in their seats, demanding some real action instead of the farce in front of them.

Not even Ainz Ooal Gown was spared from the confusion of Shirou's odd strategy. One that sparked contemplation and discussion over their friend's out-of-the-blue strategy.

"Just what the heck is he doing?" Sigfrida said. "Is he trying to stall out the clock or something?"

They watched as the holographic screens captured the fight, which turned into a game of cat and mouse. Shirou ran and maneuvered around The Mountain, keeping close but constantly out of reach. Occasionally, arrows peppered him, kicking up small explosions, but that did little against the goliath.

Her eyes drifted, catching the sight of Peroroncino sitting cozily in his seat.

"Hey." The Valkyrie nudged her boyfriend. "Do you have any idea what Emiya-san has planned?" She inquired, hoping that her boyfriend might have a clue.

Peroroncino chuckled smugly.

"I haven't the slightest clue!" He declared with an almost comical level of confidence.

Sigfrida and the others around her who leaned in to hear Peroroncino's insight looked at him in silence.

"That's not something you should be proud of…" Sigfrida deadpanned.

The avian Heteromorph shrugged, laid back as he could be.

"Honestly, this ain't the first time Emiya-senpai has done something weird or unorthodox, and it's doubtful it'll be the last time we see him doing so."

"But aren't you confused or curious?"

"Oh, without a doubt." He nodded. "I wasn't kidding when I said I had literally no clue what Emiya-senpai got planned. If anything, it makes it more fun and interesting to see what else he'll pull off!"

"Then shouldn't you be a bit worried that he might lose?"

"He won't."

Peroroncino's answer was immediate.

"Trust me, he won't. If I've learned anything about senpai over the years, it's that he has quite a competitive streak. Whatever he's planning, it's with victory in mind. No matter how strange or convoluted. So rather than worrying about what's what, why not just sit back and enjoy the show?"

Sigfrida mulled over his words.

She was no stranger to hearing her boyfriend's praise for the man. Although Sigfrida couldn't claim to know Shirou very well, it was the exact opposite when it came to Peroroncino. She knew when her boyfriend was bold and exaggerated and when he was cool and assured, even if the two would often intertwine.

Here, there was no doubt within him. This confidence wasn't born of our favoritism or arrogance, but rather of trust.

Trust in the man who instructed him. Trust in the friend who has supported him. A trust in Shirou Emiya.

A sentiment that was shared among the rest of Ainz Ooal Gown. Their questions settled, soothed by Perorocino's words.

It was as the golden archer said, they could speculate all they wished, but it was only when the match reached its conclusion that Shirou's action revealed their purpose.

And so they sat back and watched, waiting for the finale that was to come.

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

"What's the matter?! You were talking all that good shit before, yet now ya' running like a bitch! Too scared to fight The Mountain again like a man?!" The Mountain called out mockingly, having regained some of his earlier confidence.

Despite his best efforts, his words failed to get a rise out of Shirou. It only garnered a casual glance back as he answered with a spray of arrows.

The Mountain growled, his aggravation building and reaching a fever's peak, as for the last odd minutes, it has been nothing but chase and stall for ad nauseam.

He likened it to a game of tag, one that the archer showed exceptional skill at as he kept a steady tempo, running and zigzagging across the scorching desert field. Shirou was no stranger to sudden tricks, using feints and employing sudden heel-turn maneuvers to throw The Mountain off. This forced him to hasten to keep up the pace with the fleet-footed Player.

Shirou would occasionally fire from his bow, despite the futility of his attack being shown over and over again. By this point, The Mountain had opted to ignore them entirely. He'd gotten over his wariness over those spiral missiles of his, seeing as how he wasn't going to use them anytime soon at the pace they were going.

"Looks like you were all talk after all! Big bad Player Killer, running away with his tail between his legs. Weren't you going to make me eat my words? Well?! I'm waiting!"

Derision spewed freely from his tongue like a lunging viper, hoping to latch onto its prey. The colossal Player had hoped to annoy him, make him angry, or bait him into doing something, anything, but to no avail.

Shirou remained tight-lipped and nimble, always a step ahead of the Mountain, constantly just out of his reach, no matter his effort. That was perhaps what aggravated him the most. Every time he got close, he would be outmaneuvered, and the weapon spamming Player would glance over his shoulder at the brawler.

To The Mountain, he was all but mocking him, as if to say, "You can't catch me!"

The longer the chase continued, the more impatient he became.

The mountainous Player's attacks grew restless, his pursuit sloppier as he gave himself up to blindly catching him. Attacking wasn't his goal anymore. All that mattered was getting his hands on him.

"How about you save everyone the trouble and just do the dignified thing and stand still so I can kill you and win already?!"

The magus glanced at him. He could feel the frustration seeping in and anger boiling off of him at the cowardly strat.

The air was filled with his angry shouts. With how much he was shouting, it was a surprise that his voice hadn't given out yet.

"IT SEEMS EMIYA IS IN QUITE THE PICKLE. HE'S BEEN DOING NOTHING BUT RUNNING AND SHOOTING, BUT HIS ARROWS HAVE BEEN DOING DIDDLY-SQUAT! JUST WHAT THE HELL IS HE UP TO?!"

"I can't help but concur. Despite the versatility he's shown in the beginning, it seems as if Emiya is playing the waiting game. Perhaps the exchange we saw before spooked him, and he's choosing instead to employ a safer alternative?"

"WELL, WHATEVER HE'S PLANNING, I HOPE HE'D HURRY IT UP! WE GOT OTHER MATCHES TO LOOK FORWARD TO."

'I'd say he's good and riled.' Shirou thought, dodging another attack and evading The Mountain's grab as a loud and inappropriate curse followed him.

Feigning weakness, his leaps grew shorter and his dodges less refined. Gradually and noticeably, the gap between them shortened. Something that The Mountain instantly latched onto as he closed in on him.

The Mountain figured that weariness must be settling in, similar to himself. He already felt a sense of mental exhaustion creeping in and a growing headache throbbing from how long the match dragged on.

Exactly as Shirou planned.

'It's high time I end this dog and pony show.' The Mountain thought with a vindictive smile, rushing forward with renewed vigor.

He had already burned through much of his cache of skills throughout the match, far more than he'd liked. He still had to think about his future matches, after all.

The Mountain's prediction paid off as he appeared, towering over the weapon-spamming Player and cutting off his escape route.

"[Heavy Impact], [Bala]!" He struck with a powerful right hook following the activation of his first skill and timing it correctly in conjunction with his second skill, adding more striking power to it as [Heavy Impact] and [Bala] struck Shirou point-blank.

The Mountain grinned, savoring the satisfying sensation of knockback in his fist behind the hit.

Just before contact, Shirou threw up his left arm to defend, taking the brunt of the attack. Reinforcement helped to mitigate the damage taken, but his arm was left bruised and limp from the direct attack. With a boom, he was sent flying, careening backward.

Despite the pain, he didn't scream and managed to right himself before landing on his feet.

He was back at the ruins.

Shirou had led them right back to where they were before, and The Mountain was none the wiser.

"Rargh!"

With a battle cry, he flourished his uninjured arm in a wide arc, his magic circuits ablaze with fervent energy. The very air seemed to ignite with an otherworldly luminescence as a tempest of vibrant neon lightning burst forth from magus. Dozens upon dozens of swords materialized, filling the air with an army's worth of sharp, glinting steel. Interspersed among the sea of steel were a handful of scarlet spears, no more than two dozen in total. The blazing glare of the sun reflected softly off the resplendent shaft of Gáe Dearg, casting burning rays of scarlet across the battlefield.

[Gáe Dearg: Crimson Rose of Exorcism – Divine Tier Spear]

Diarmuid Ua Duibhne's second Noble Phantasm, much like its golden-yellow counterpart, possessed an altered function in addition to its original ability within YGGDRASIL. Not only could it sever any magical enhancements or projections of the target.

The same applies to enchantment skills.

It also had added the effect of halting the flow of mana when struck, preventing any form of immediate counterattack that involved spells or magic. Should a Player be struck by Gáe Dearg while attempting to cast a spell or just before the casting, not only would the spell be canceled, but the MP cost for the spell would be wasted as well. Furthermore, they were also unable to use any form of magic for a few short seconds.

Gáe Dearg was a nightmare of a weapon for mages to fight against, as the likes of Momonga and Ulbert could attest firsthand. Both it and Rule Breaker were banned from being used in casual duels in the guild due to how unfair they were.

While The Mountain wasn't a mage, Gáe Dearg would serve just as effective.

A bid of panic seized The Mountain at the raw display of power, his blue, glowing eyes catching the distortion in his opponent.

[Mana Sight] was a skill that showed the target's MP, identically to the spell [Mana Essence]. It was what he used at the beginning and kept using throughout the fight to gauge and keep track of the Player Killer's MP.

It was thanks to this skill that he noticed the significant drop in his opponent's MP. He figured that the armada of swords was a last-ditch effort.

'He barely has enough to make that troublesome spiral arrow again.' The Mountain noted, his victory feeling secured by the second.

With a war cry of his own, The Mountain met the challenge head-on.

Shirou's projections fired forth, not all at once, but a steady stream of steel as Gáe Dearg flew one by one amidst them. Gáe Dearg sliced through the orange desert and arid sky, leaving behind a trail of scarlet light that shimmered like a mirage come to life.

"[Heavy Metal]!" Instantly, a metallic sheen washed over the Player, his skin taking on a metallic chrome color, followed by a multitude of other enchantment skills and buffs.

The Mountain brought up his fists, swatting and punching the incoming projectiles out of the air. Unlike their predecessors, these projectiles did not detonate upon impact. Instead, they were meant to serve as a diversion. The crimson tips of the legendary spear were unable to fully penetrate the Mountain's impenetrable steel skin, but each one of them struck true. Had the brawling goliath been a bit more attentive, he might have noticed the subtle discoloration that washed over his avatar with each piercing blow. However, swept up by his eagerness to emerge victorious, his impatience and battle frenzy consumed him, making him have tunnel vision for a victory that was well within his grasp.

A conclusion made all the more evident by the fact that his quarry didn't bother running or escaping like before. The magus stood there as if welcoming him.

The Mountain grinned viciously, all too eager to finally bring this match to a close.

Shirou waited, his body relaxing and his posture straightening out, ready to meet the charging giant. He inhaled and let out a steady breath.

The very moment the brawler set foot on the outskirts of the ruin, he snapped his finger.

The swords he had projected earlier and scattered across the ground lit up and detonated. Both they and their surroundings were engulfed in a wild storm of sand and debris. With his vision suddenly blinded by a whirlwind of sand, The Mountain staggered and veered off course, his fist striking nothing but air.

He tumbled slightly, recovering quickly.

Although the thick coat of dust hindered his vision, through narrowed eyes, he caught a faint flicker of light within the sand storm. It clued him in on Shirou's position, and he continued his blitz fearlessly, regardless of the condition.

Shirou's silhouette became more defined as the distance between them shortened, enough for him to act.

"[Inner Discipline], [Power Draw], [Charge Force], [Boost Durability], and [Titan's Rush]!"

With a final burst of skills, The Mountain put everything into his shoulder charge, blue pulsating energy wreathed around him as he barreled towards his opponent.

'Gotcha ya!'

His smirk widened, only for it to freeze as the veil of sand receded to reveal what awaited him.

Shirou confronted him, wielding some kind of great weapon in his hands. It was a weapon that was unlike any that came before it. It took the form of a large stone sword-axe with a wicked bladed edge like a butcher's knife. The weapon looked ostentatious and crude, nearly twice in length as the wielder's own height.

A split-second hesitation overtook The Mountain before his mind rationalized it. There was no way the silver-haired Player could swing such an unwieldy weapon in time. Especially one that looked more in place in the hands of a [Warlord] or a [Highlander] class, Players with the appropriate strength stats and job classes needed to wield it properly. Furthermore, The Mountain's skills and attack were already active, and he was a second away from tackling the man into oblivion. And, even in the unlikely scenario he was to somehow get his swing in, The Mountain was confident that his own attack would surpass Shirou's and cave in his body first, thus negating the Player Killer's pitiful attempt. Additionally, he was practically at full health, with several enhancement buffs and skills still in effect, making it highly unlikely that he would suffer any significant damage even if the attack landed.

That was right. It was imposs—!

The gazes of the two combatants met, their eyes locked in a final moment of intensity.

It would be here where The Mountain's eyes caught something awaiting him. A glimpse of something - something more, something greater - standing before the Player.

The Mountain was large, and with him looming over Shirou and his shockwave tackle ready to make contact, he appeared all the grander in size.

Yet, he was dwarfed by what he saw.

A towering figure, not just in terms of height but presence, awaited him.

A true warrior.

A true hero stood before him.

A pair of golden eyes flashed, swiftly followed by a flash of golden amber and steelish silver.

"[Trigger Off. Set — Nine Lives Blade Work: Shooting The Hundred Heads]!"

One moment he had his eyes on Shirou, dead to rights, and the very next, all The Mountain could see was the sky.

'W-what...?' His mind conjured.

Indeed, The Mountain did get his skill off first.

However, Shirou's was faster.

Just as The Mountain reached him, Shirou delivered all nine earth-rending slashes at godspeed simultaneously, chopping through the gargantuan Player's attack and defenses. His body scattered into eight pieces. The sheer intensity of his attack radiated outward, dispelling the swirling maelstrom of sand that surrounded them. Nine deep scars stretched across the barren ground, a testament to his power.

Cracks spread across the dismembered pieces of The Mountain's body before shattering into polygons all around him, leaving only the projection magus remaining.

Shirou let out a single, tremendous breath. At the same time, the world around him cracked, giving away, and in a blink, he was back in the stadium again.

With a small show, he swung Nine Lives around and rested it on his shoulder, basking in the moment with a small smirk. He stood with his head held high, victorious for all to see.

There was nothing but silence for the first few seconds before the world exploded into noise, louder and greater than ever seen before. A medley of cheering, incoherent shouting, turbulent questioning, all manner of curses, and everything in between filled the air. The amalgamation of noises was so immense that it echoed not just within the stadium but throughout the entire expanse of Und Ljósinn, and possibly even beyond. The ground beneath him seemed to shake, resembling the tremors of an earthquake.

"HOLY SHIT! WHAT A TURNAROUND!"

"I-indeed. It would seem that Emiya is more resourceful than he may appear." Sam joined in, his voice in equal parts disbelief and excitement following his co-analyst.

"WELL, THEY DON'T CALL HIM THE PLAYER KILLER FOR NOTHING! AND HERE I THOUGHT THE FIRST ROUND WAS GOING TO BE A SNOOZEFEST! HAHAHA! NOW THAT'S HOW YOU KICK OFF AND END AN OPENING MATCH! CHOCK ANOTHER NAME TO THE LIST, FOR IT SEEMS THAT THIS MOUNTAIN CRUMBLED AFTER ALL. THE WINNER OF THE FIRST ROUND GOES TO EMIYA!"

"Woah…" Sigfrida muttered breathlessly as she reclined back from the edge of her seat.

Several of the holographic screens replayed key moments in the match, each one ending with Shirou's climatic finisher from different angles of the fight. The noise refused to die down even as the two analysts exchanged insight and intrigue over the match. Heavy debate passed between them and the audience, with each trying their best to solve the mystery and discover the answer to what they just saw.

She gently tugged at her boyfriend's arm, her eyes still affixed to the replays. A burning question of 'how' lingered within her mind.

"Hmm? What's up, babe?" Peroroncino turned to her.

"How'd he do it?" Sigfrida asked him. "How'd he pull something like that just out of nowhere?!"

"What do you mean? I once explained it to you before, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but with the way you told me, I assumed he could only make arrows, swords, and whatever else. Reasonable stuff. That giant 'fuck-you' axe-sword thing that can one-shot someone is kind of another story!"

"Oh, that…" The golden archer trailed off before shrugging. "It's one of Emiya-senpai's trump cards. You'll be shocked at just how many of those he got hiding under his sleeve. Slipped my mind, I guess."

Sigfrida pouted, relenting without any further issue. However, that led to a whole other question.

"But wait, if he had such an ace up his sleeve this entire time, why didn't he use it sooner? What was the whole point of wasting so much time on that goose chase? He could've ended the match at any time he wanted." She pointed this out.

Questions shared by not just her but many others as well. Why did Shirou delay the match for as long as he did when he had the means to end it this whole time?

Before Peroroncino could reply, her question was answered by another.

"Because the right opportunity didn't present itself."

The two glanced over their shoulders, finding that it was Momonga who answered. The necromancer realized that he must have spoken out of turn as he quickly tried to apologize, only for Peroroncino to gesture to his Guildmaster, giving him the go-ahead.

"As I said, it wasn't the right time. As we all saw, throughout the beginning, it was Mountain-san that remained dominant, but the moment Emiya-san switched onto the offensive, it was he that was left reeling. Seeing the raw damage Emiya-san was able to deliver, no doubt put him on high alert. He would be a fool not to be cautious, especially when he was against Emiya-san's unknowable arsenal. You are correct in that it's powerful, but Emiya-san couldn't afford to use it so early or haphazardly, not when Mountain-san was overly weary of what else he could pull out. There was a possibility that it might not have taken him out in one go, or maybe he caught Emiya-san's intention due to his prior weariness. He couldn't afford to tip his hand far too early."

"Ok… But that still doesn't quite answer why the heck he decided to stall out the fight for so long." Destana chimed in from Momonga's side.

"In a PvP matchup, a fight isn't determined by who has the strongest spells or skills, or whose build is better, or even who has the better stats and can do the most damage." Bukubukuchagama added, taking over from Momonga.

"There's an ebb and flow to it, a push and pull, action and reaction. You can even liken it to a dance. One needs not to be solely stronger than their opponent but also smarter and more cunning. It's not about who can land the most powerful attack first or deal the most damage. If that were the case, then he would've spammed those spiral arrows of his. Instead, he took a step back, assessed the situation and planned out his next move. As Momonga-san said, he couldn't afford to tip his hand too early. You can think of it in terms of Super-Tier Magic. They're crazy strong, capable of one-shotting a Player, but you don't see everyone begin with a move like that every time. It comes down to knowing when to use the correct moves at the right time to deal the final blow."

"I think I get it…" Sigfrida said. "Basically, he did what he did to lure The Mountain in and set him up for his ultimate attack?"

"Precisely. After all, all warfare is based on deception." Tabula weighted in, drawn into the growing discussion.

"Rather than give Mountain-san any elbow room to rethink a plan of attack, Emiya-san made him play to his tune when he decided to go with the tactic that we saw. If Mountain-san didn't give chase, then Emiya-san had free reign to spam those powerful powerful spiral arrows - Caladbolg II. It forced his opponent to move, lest he suffer any further catastrophic damage by his hands. On top of that, Mountain-san's caution against those powerful spiral arrows was well warranted throughout their match. That was perhaps why he used and showed it off so often, making Mountain-san focus on that over everything else. A thing to note was that he kept what he was capable of creating to a minimum. It was as to why Emiya-san's trump card - Nine Lives Blade Work - worked so well as a finisher."

"Ahhh." Destana let out an understanding sound, with Sigfrida nodding along.

To a newbie like Sigfrida, and even to a casual Player like Destana, the intricacies of PvP remained a complex discussion as they didn't have much experience when it came to that aspect of the game. However, they were able to follow along thanks to the guild member's helpful explanation and came to better understand the magus's method.

Those within Ainz Ooal Gown knew Shirou's build and abilities were fundamentally unconventional. It was this ambiguity and versatility that made him so dangerous. None, be they a newbie or a veteran, could actively ascertain the exact scopes and limits of his projections.

An archer who was capable of firing arrows and launching exploding swords in addition to wielding small-bladed weapons? Extraordinary, but far from impossible.

Pulling out a disabling lance and two heavy-hitting clubs? That was certainly stretching it, but within the realm of possibility.

But a large and raw weapon that was capable of dropping a Player like The Mountain with all his defense was something so ludicrous no one would think possible on the first go.

Tabula had seen Touch Me be on the receiving end of Nine Lives Blade Work once. As he later shared with the Brain Eater, from firsthand experience, it was near impossible to avoid or defend against, even if one knew what it was capable of.

The skill, or technique, as it would be appropriately called, was devastatingly powerful and insanely quick, to the point of instantaneous. It rivaled the ultimate warrior skill [World Break] in terms of instant power and damage values. The trade-off was it relatively short effective range. Shirou resolved this issue by devising a scenario where The Mountain came to him instead of the other way around.

"It was a well constructed gambit. By switching it up and fighting the way he did, he gave the illusion that it was his only option available to him. And by putting focus on those specific spiral arrows and running away, resulting in the roundabout chase sequence, Emiya-san effectively imprinted the idea that it was his main trump card. Hence, why he switched to using strictly his bow in the latter portion of the match, despite the results from the previous beatdown against Mountain-san." Tabula quickly delved in.

"Indeed. To him, it was unthinkable that Emiya-san would possess another potential weapon that could match him head-on and overpower him. Especially one that could one-shot him. A narrative he spun by abandoning to engage in further close-quarter combat for a seemingly safer alternative. And so he bided his time, setting up the board. A process that was helped further along by Mountain-san's growing impatience, a purposeful act to rile him up, which helped blind him to Emiya-san's true goal." Punitto Moe contributed, the PK & PKK Chief Strategist nodding in approval of his guildmate's tactic.

"By the end, he created a false sense of security for him, and when he saw what was perceived as a moment of weakness and an opening on Emiya-san's part…"

"The dumb fucker ran right into it without a second thought." Ulbert finished, rousing some bemusement from the others.

The World Disaster grunted. It served to remind him of a memory. Years ago, Shirou and Ulbert had a duel. The reasoning behind their match was lost on him and ultimately unimportant. For much of the match, it was Ulbert that remained dominant, keeping the projection user at bay with a flurry of destructive spells, yet he could never score a critical hit. The longer their fight endured, the more restless he grew. It culminated in where the magus had purposely left himself open, and as the magic caster readied his ultimate attack, he was defeated in an instant.

Ulbert could still remember the sting of defeat even after Shirou had taken the time to explain his strategy and review the fight with him. A defeat he resolved to himself to never endure again.

Seeing it repeated brought both a sense of sharp satisfaction and begrudging acknowledgment from him.

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

With the other World Champions, they too shared in the audience's astonishment and excitement. Touch Me remained as he was. Though his face was hidden behind a helm, the others could feel the smugness radiating from the paladin.

"Seems like we might've spoken a bit too early, Touch Me-san." LichtKing said, a timbre of excitement in his voice after what they just saw.

"My only complaint is that the second half turned into such a borefest until the end. I mean, I was expecting a bombastic fight and crazy shit like what he showed off earlier." Duskindal slumped in his seat.

Elementum V patted the assassin's shoulder, an understanding looking emoticon appearing over him.

While boring, none would fault the man for resorting to the strategy that he employed. The point of the matches was to win, to determine who was better and who was more worthy. In the end, it was Shirou who won and The Mountain that lost.

"No need to mope, Duskindal-san. It's only the first match. The tournament is only just beginning, and he'll have plenty of chances to wow you and show off just what he's capable of in the matches to come." Touch Me assured.

Duskindal perked up, eager for what was to come. "I'll hold you to that, Touch Me-san."

Touch Me smiled. Before turning back, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

"So, what do you think, Luciferno-san? I'd say he has shown he's more than a bag full of tricks, wouldn't you say?"

Touch Me's question earned the attention of the others as the rest of the World Champions turned to their final seated member in his little corner. Where before he sat slouched and bored in his seat, here he sat upright, his posture leaning forward and giving the slightest hint of intrigue following the conclusion of the match. A far cry from his usual dismissive attitude.

The World Champion of Múspellsheim threw Touch Me a sideways glare.

"Whatever..." Luciferno grunted before going back to ignoring everyone.

A reaction that drew silent amusement from the rest, especially Touch Me.

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

Dismissing Nine Lives, he turned and walked back to the entranceway. Halfway across, he spotted his friends standing and waving passionately, trying to see if they could catch his attention.

They did.

He waved back in thanks, with some of the members of Ainz Ooal Gown jumping for clear joy, earning a soft chuckle from the magus.

'One down, many more to go...' He thought.

The 9th World Champion Tournament was just getting started.

Omake: The Pose of Dominance

The roar of the crowd grew insistent following The Mountain's trash talk. Many looked to Shirou, waiting to see what his reaction would be.

Slowly, his arms unfurrow. The crowd watched on as Shirou's arm extended forth from his body and came to a stop when they were completely straight and horizontal.

ゴゴゴゴゴ

There Shirou stood, T-posing.

Seconds passed as The Mountain and everyone watched him remain in the pose. He was unmoving and silent, asserting his dominance.

The crowd grew louder, demanding action. However, Shirou remained as he was, like a statue.

ゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴ

"W-well, I suppose we should get the tournament underway! Let the first match between Emiya and The Mountain begin—!"

Just as the announcer spoke these words, Shirou moved.

One second, the two Players were facing one another, and the next Shirou was standing where The Mountain was. As for the man himself? He was launched into the stratosphere in the blink of an eye. In the sky, everyone could see the faint twinkle of a star from where he was launched.

The entire stadium was silent.

"...WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK…?!" The voice of Bob spoke, voicing what everyone was thinking.

"Uh… I guess the winner of the first round is Emiya!" Said Sam, announcing the victory.

The massive stadium was filled with loud, awkward applause and sounds from the audience. Many were still trying to understand what they had just witnessed.

And Shirou?

ゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴ

He remained where he was.

"Will Emiya please exit the arena? I repeat, will the contestant, Emiya, please vacate the arena so that the rest of the matches may continue?"

The voice of Sam echoed from the commentator booth. Yet Shirou remained unmoving.

By now, he, along with the rest of the audience watching, was starting to feel nervous.

"Just what is he doing?"

"HE JUST STANDING THERE... MENACINGLY!"

ゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴ

Slowly, Shirou turned, no, that wasn't the right word to describe it. He rotated while still remaining in his immovable pose. Turning to face them all.

The Player Killer slowly rose, levitating in the air for all to see.

"Oh my god…" Came the horrified voice from the commentator booth.

And then he blitzed the booth, and the world was filled with the sounds of screams and explosions.

In his own private abode, Zelretch watched it all happen from the comfort of his extravagant chair. The various screens displayed different recordings of the stadium and stage. All of them but one were filled with static, with the last one showing the remaining fighters for the tournament in the waiting wing screaming as the video feed shook and Shirou's menacing form crashed through the room.

And then the feed cuts to black.

Zelretch puckered his lips at what he just witnessed.

"Well… That just happened…"

ゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴ

The room rocked violently, and Zelretch was thrown to the floor.

"What the—!"

The wizard looked up; his shock was quickly replaced with horror. There floated Shirou, still in his T-pose position.

"H-how?!"

This room was his own private retreat. Separated from every known part of reality. Only through the likes of Kaleidoscope could one even hope to perceive his hiding spot, let alone reach it.

Shirou said nothing.

"Now, now, let's not do anything hasty! Let's talk this out!"

Zelretch slowly retreated, holding out a steady hand and trying to talk with him as sweat began to run down his face. Shirou remained impassive, floating slowly towards him.

"I'll do anything! I'll give you Saber! Rin! Sakura! A harem of Saber!face and Rin!face. Hell, even Illya, if you want! All of it!"

Zelretch's desperate plea went unanswered as he backed away. His back hit the wall as his eyes frantically looked around for an escape.

There were none.

ゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴ

The shadows lengthened, shallowing the room in a dark light as he floated ever closer towards the Apostle. Shirou's T-shaped shadow loomed over him. Darkness shrouded all of Shirou's face, leaving only his eyes nothing more than red dots that grew all the more menacing as the distance between them closed.

ゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴ

"No! Please...!"

Zelretch's screams echoed across the infinite void.

Omake: WWCS Mania (World Wrestling Champion Smackdown)

In the middle of the arena, within the wrestling ring, Warrior Takemikazuchi and The Mountain circled one another.

"THIS IS FOR ALL THE MARBLES, FOLKS. LET'S SEE WHO WILL TAKE HOME THE CHAMPIONSHIP BELT!"

The bell went off and the two charged.

The Mountain swung with a lariat, but Warrior Takemikazuchi blocked it, knocking him back.

The Heteromorph ran and jumped, hitting The Mountain with a powerful dropkick.

"The Mountain is reeling... But wait! What's this?!"

Shirou appeared behind The Mountain, wielding a folded steel chair. He smacked him behind the head, staggering him.

"EMIYA OUT OF NOWHERE WITH A STEEL CHAIR!"

"Here comes Warrior Takemikazuchi!"

Warrior Takemikazuchi ran up, his arm wrapping around The Mountain's throat in a cutter as he dropped, bringing him with him.

"WATCH OUT, WATCH OUT, WATCH OUT!"

The Mountain's head and face slammed into the ground with a heavy thud.

"RKO!"

"It's not over yet folk! What's Emiya doing?!

Shirou projected a tall ladder.

Warrior Takemikazuchi climbed all the way to the top with The Mountain's body in tow.

Grabbing the body, he lifted him up and held him in the headscissors position and then jumped.

Shirou generously projected a table for his guildmate on the ring.

Warrior Takemikazuchi fell and slammed The Mountain on the table, smashing it into pieces with a brutal slam.

"A powerbomb from the very top! No mercy!"

"BAH GAWD AS MY WITNESS, THAT MAN IS BROKEN IN HALF!"

Warrior Takemikazuchi's body pressed down on The Mountain's, holding him down.

"One... Two... Three...!"

Shirou slid in, his hand slapped the ground with every count.

"Ten!"

"And that's ten, people! The match is over!"

Warrior Takemikazuchi got up. The roars of the crowd cheered him on as he threw both hands into the air.

A pair of showgirls walked forward, holding his championship belt.

Accepting his covetous prize, he hoisted it up for all to see.

"W-wait, what's this?!"

Suddenly, a commotion.

From one of the entrances, smoke and pyrotechnics went off. And a surprise challenger approached.

"IT'S ZELRETCH! THIS FIGHT AIN'T OVER JUST YET!"

Character Sheet Stat Screen:

Rider – Lvl: 100 (True Name: Ushiwakamaru - Minamoto no Yoshitsune)

The Great Wandering General

Job: NPC Servant of Emiya

Resident: The Great Tomb of Nazarick; can travel with summoner.

Alignment: Neutral. Sense of Justice: 150

Race: Heroic Spirit

Racial Level: No Race Levels.

Job Level:

[Sword Master]: 10 Lvl

[Expert]: 10 Lvl

[Wander]: 10 Lvl

[Rider]: 5 Lvl

[Tactician]: 5 Lvl

[Hero]: 5 Lvl

[Other]: 55 Lvl

Total: 100 Job level = 100 level

Ability Chart:

HP: 79

MP: 84

Phy ATK: 60

Phy DEF: 55

Agility: 100+

Mag ATK: 45

Mag Def: 60

Resist: 95

Special: 100+

Total Stats: 678+

Author's Note:

And so, the first match of the World Champion Tournament begins and concludes. I feel like I'm repeating myself, but hopefully, I can still write an enjoyable fight scene. Honestly, that was what I had some trouble getting back into, even more than the character interaction and story.

It's a strange conflict, where I both enjoyed and had fun with writing the scenario yet every time I read over it, it feels choppy and unsatisfactory for some reason. And no matter how many times I reread it and edited it, the feeling persists. It might have something to do with a new implementation I tried when writing the tournament event or perhaps its me still being rusty.

For this chapter and tournament arc, one of the things I wanted to try my hand at was character commentary. The ones commonly seen in anime and show with cut-away shots or panels, dispersed within the fight to help elaborate and give snippets of voice to the various characters by showing their thoughts, expertise, and their take on the fight. As well as making the fights more tactical. Rather than giving it out as straight exposition or narration as the fight continues. I know some find it annoying and cliché, cutting away to catch a reaction or commentary, but I always found it fun. When used appropriately and in moderation.

Of course, there's the problem where the character commentary simply doesn't always work or simply drags and ends as unneeded filler. So do let me know if it does, that way I can know to cut and trim it down in the future, allowing for the fight to tell the story then just having the characters exposit it all out. Helping to streamline the process.

That's always been the tricky part of being a writer I've found - having so many ideas, potential interactions, characters, and inclusions and trying to juggle them together in a scene/chapter. It's the leading cause of the chapter and word count stretching and stretching and before you know it, you've written nearly 15K+ words and you're still not quite done! Well, at least it won't be a short read.

And regarding Shirou and Zelretch's discussion and promise, there's still a bit more to it and it'll be unveil in the later chapters.

With that said, thank you very much for reading to the end of the chapter and hopefully it was enjoyable. Please do leave a review or comment on what you may or might not like about the chapter and do let us know.

Next Chapter: The 9th World Champion Tournament III