Chapter 2: Fem's Casa Part 2
A quick update. This chapter was initially planned to be uploaded as one chapter with the previous one. However, I personally think that it would be too long. So, I decided to separate it in to two different chapters. Anyway, I hope this part catch your attention.
The streets of Monaco glistened under the evening sky, bathed in a soft glow from the street lamps and the golden hues of the sun's last light. Shirou Emiya sat in the back of a sleek black sedan, the interior of the car quiet, save for the hum of the engine. His eyes remained fixed on the view outside, scanning the coastline as the car glided past luxury yachts docked in the harbor, high-end casinos, and towering buildings that reflected the last light of the day.
Monaco. In his world, the tiny principality was much the same: a playground for the wealthy and the powerful, a place where vast fortunes were won and lost over lavish tables in opulent casinos. Yet, in this world, there was something unmistakably different. It wasn't just the air of wealth or the glimmering nightlife—it was the undercurrent of the supernatural that subtly permeated the city. In his world, the Monaco he had known was no stranger to hidden deals and shady transactions, but the creatures of the night had remained far more concealed. Here, in this world, the boundary between the mundane and the magical was thinner. Exactly what he expected from a parallel world.
Different world. Different rules. Despite the similarities.
As the sedan turned a corner and descended into the heart of Monaco's most elite district, Shirou's mind wandered to the purpose of his visit. The name Van Fem had resurfaced—Van Fem from this world, anyway. The Van Fem he knew in his own reality was a Dead Apostle, a powerful vampire who had become a well-established figure in the world of the supernatural. Shirou had only dealt with him from a distance, hearing of his influence and the way he quietly managed an underground empire that spanned across various shadowy markets.
But this world's Van Fem was still largely a mystery to Shirou. Was he a Dead Apostle here, too? Or was he something else entirely? This world's supernatural forces didn't always align perfectly with what Shirou knew. The power dynamics and the figures that held sway over territories might resemble those from his world, but there were often crucial differences. It made things more dangerous. Van Fem, in whatever form he took in this world, could not be underestimated. His reputation still held enough weight to make him a key figure, and anyone who dealt in the shadows of Monaco likely paid tribute to him.
Shirou exhaled, glancing at the map displayed on his phone. He was nearing his destination. His thoughts drifted back to the mission at hand—tracking down Jester Karture. Jester was known for slipping through the cracks, making himself nearly impossible to find, but his connections to other vampires meant that crossing paths with Van Fem might offer a lead. Still, the situation was precarious. Shirou couldn't afford to make enemies of Monaco's supernatural elite until he was sure where everyone stood.
The sedan pulled up to a building that stood apart from the more traditional luxury hotels of the city. To most, it might appear as another exclusive retreat for the rich and famous, but Shirou knew better. This hotel wasn't ordinary. It catered to an entirely different clientele—those with supernatural origins, from magi to devils, from vampires to otherworldly creatures that preferred to remain hidden in plain sight.
L'Hôtel du Crépuscule, a luxurious estate in Monaco known to the supernatural circles, loomed before him. The entrance was grand, but not ostentatious, with a timeless elegance that concealed the true nature of the guests who frequented it. In his world, such places existed, but they were far more secretive, guarded by powerful magic to keep the mundane away. Here, the lines blurred more easily.
Shirou stepped out of the car, his boots hitting the cobbled entrance as he glanced around. The hotel staff, too polished and too perfect to be human, offered him a courteous nod. He could feel the subtle brush of magic in the air, woven into the fabric of the hotel itself. Protection spells, probably ancient, layered like invisible shields to ward off troublemakers. It was a place where beings like him—mages, vampires, and creatures of myth—mingled with the highest echelons of society, hiding their true selves in plain sight.
A valet greeted him, but Shirou simply nodded in return. He had no baggage, nothing to unpack because all of his stuffs were left in a different Hotel.
Once inside, the air shifted to a refined opulence. Soft music played in the background, and the scent of incense lingered faintly, almost masking the presence of those whose aura radiated power. The hotel's patrons weren't ordinary at all. He could sense it—the barely contained energy of magi, the cold and ancient presence of vampires, and even the occasional devil. It wasn't quite hostile, but it was a potent reminder that this was no ordinary establishment.
As Shirou made his way through the grand lobby, his thoughts returned to one of his contact that he had come to know a few months ago, Millarca Vordenburg. They were, in some ways, strange allies. Millarca, a pure-blooded vampire from the Carmilla faction, was cunning, beautiful, and untrustworthy by nature, yet somehow, he and Millarca had come to an understanding over the course of his time in this world. She was a valuable information broker in the supernatural underworld, and though Shirou didn't completely trust her—trusting vampires rarely ended well—he knew that their relationship had been beneficial on more than one occasion. Unlike many vampires, she didn't seem bound by the same sense of superiority. She saw value in their mutual cooperation, which had made her a useful ally.
As for why she was in Monaco, it was no coincidence. Shirou had reached out to her before arriving. He knew her well enough to guess that her reasons for being here extended beyond his need to access Van Fem's casino. Millarca always had her own agenda, and he would find out soon enough what it was.
The elevator ride up to the penthouse suite where Millarca had arranged to meet him was smooth and silent. As the doors slid open, he was greeted by the sight of an extravagant suite, lavishly decorated with gold accents and plush furnishings. Large windows overlooked the glittering lights of Monaco below, the ocean stretching out beyond. But as Shirou stepped inside, his focus immediately locked onto the figure seated at the grand piano in the corner of the room.
Millarca was there, waiting for him, her fingers lightly resting on the piano keys, though she wasn't playing. She turned her head toward him, her eyes gleaming with an amused expression, as if she had been expecting him to marvel at the room's splendor. She wore a dark, elegant dress, one that spoke of old-world nobility, perfectly in line with her vampiric heritage. Her smile was as sharp as ever, with just the barest hint of fang visible as she spoke.
"Shirou," she greeted, her voice smooth and teasing, "fashionably late, as always."
He met her gaze evenly, not rising to the bait. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"You are," Millarca acknowledged with a soft laugh. She stood gracefully, stepping away from the piano and moving toward him. "Welcome to Monaco. I take it the city have captivated your attention due to its... Enhancement?"
Shirou's gaze swept over the room before returning to her. "It's...different, I suppose. But it's not bad" He paused. "Same with Romania and Germany. Each with their own uniqueness.
Millarca tilted her head slightly, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. "That would be telling, wouldn't it? Let's just say that Monaco is… more flexible. You'll find out soon enough."
She gestured for him to sit, and as he did, Shirou couldn't shake the sense that despite their previous dealings, he was walking into something far larger than he had anticipated. The lines between friend and foe were often blurred when it came to the supernatural, and Millarca was no exception. There was always something more beneath the surface.
Millarca's playful demeanor faded into a more serious tone as she moved to sit across from him. "Now, let's discuss what you really came here for."
Shirou leaned forward, ready for the real conversation to begin.
Millarca, seated gracefully across from Shirou, regarded him with that familiar calculating smile. It was the kind of smile that reminded Shirou she was always a few steps ahead, her motives never fully revealed. But that was the nature of their relationship—one built on necessity, where trust was a luxury neither of them could afford. Still, their arrangement had worked in the past. And now, he needed her again.
Shirou leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed loosely. "So, you know why I'm here. Let's get straight to the point. How do I get into Van Fem's casino?"
Millarca's eyes sparkled with amusement, though her posture remained composed. She seemed to enjoy his bluntness—an odd contrast to the games most in her world liked to play. "Ah, Shirou, always so direct. That's one of the things I like about you." She paused, letting the words linger in the air before continuing, "But getting into Fem's Casa isn't quite as simple as walking up to the front door. You see, Van Fem doesn't deal with just anyone. His casino is an exclusive affair, reserved for the elite of the supernatural world. And trust me, you don't get an invitation unless you've earned your place."
Shirou's gaze didn't waver. "And you have a way for me to earn that place?"
"Of course," she said smoothly, as though the idea of her not having a plan was inconceivable. "But, naturally, there's a catch. Van Fem's games aren't just for entertainment. They serve a higher purpose—information, influence, power. Everything that happens on that ship has meaning, and everything that's wagered is more than just money."
Shirou's expression remained unreadable, though he could sense the direction she was leading him. "What's the price?"
Millarca's smile widened, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're getting better at this," she teased. "But yes, there's a price. There always is. You see, I can get you an invitation, but in return, I need your help."
Shirou felt the shift in the conversation. It was what he had been expecting—Millarca didn't do favors without something in it for herself. "Go on," he said, his tone measured.
She stood, moving gracefully to the large window that framed the view of Monaco's harbor. Her fingers lightly traced the glass as she spoke. "There's someone here in Monaco, someone I need to stop. A relative of mine, Elmenhilde Karnstein. You may have heard of her—a noble from the Carmilla faction, like myself."
Shirou nodded, recalling the name from his own dealings with vampires in this world. Elmenhilde was known as a prominent figure within the Carmilla faction, an influential pure-blood with a reputation for ambition. But that didn't explain why Millarca was so concerned.
"Elmenhilde," Millarca continued, "has come to Monaco with a dangerous plan. She intends to assassinate Van Fem. And while I have no great love for Van Fem, her actions would destabilize more than just the political landscape here. It could spark a war between the Carmilla, Tepes, and Van Fem's factions. A war that would draw in every vampire in Europe and beyond."
Shirou's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what does she gain from killing Van Fem?"
Millarca turned back to face him, her expression serious now. "Power. Influence. Control. By taking out Van Fem, she would eliminate one of the most powerful players in the vampire world and position herself as the one who held the reins afterward. But more than that, she has something with her—a weapon that could tip the scales."
"A weapon?" Shirou asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.
"Yes," Millarca confirmed, her voice low. "Valerie Tepes. Or rather, the power inside her—the Sacred Gear, Sephiroth's Graal."
Shirou's jaw tightened. The Sephiroth's Graal was a powerful Sacred Gear, one that could manipulate souls, even restore life to the dead. In the wrong hands, it was a tool of unimaginable danger.
"Elmenhilde kidnapped Valerie from the Tepes faction," Millarca explained. "She plans to use the Graal's power to ensure Van Fem's demise—and afterward, she'll be unstoppable."
Shirou leaned forward, the weight of the situation settling over him. "And you want me to stop her?"
Millarca met his gaze, her expression firm. "Yes. If Elmenhilde succeeds, it won't just be Van Fem who suffers. The entire balance of power within the supernatural world will shift. That kind of chaos… it's something we can't afford. And more importantly, Valerie needs to be freed. The girl is a victim in all this, and I won't let her be used as a pawn."
Shirou was silent for a moment, weighing his options. This was bigger than he had anticipated, but that was how these things often went. Nothing in the supernatural world was ever simple.
"You help me stop Elmenhilde," Millarca continued, "and I'll get you into Fem's Casa. I'll even assist you during the game, as promised. But you have to understand, this isn't just about the casino anymore. You'll be walking into a den of intrigue and danger far beyond a few rounds of cards."
Shirou's mind raced through the possibilities. He had expected complications, but this? This was a delicate situation, one that could easily spiral out of control if he wasn't careful. But he needed to get into Van Fem's circle. And if Elmenhilde was planning to assassinate him, that could lead Shirou to uncover more than just Jester Karture's whereabouts.
Finally, he nodded. "I'll help you. But once we're inside, I'll need to focus on my own mission too. I'm not here to get involved in vampire politics. My goal is Jester Karture."
Millarca smiled again, though this time it was more genuine. "Of course. Your goals and mine can coexist, Shirou. That's why this arrangement works." She stepped closer, her tone softening slightly. "Just… be careful. Van Fem's world is dangerous, and Elmenhilde won't hesitate to kill anyone who stands in her way."
Shirou gave a small nod, rising to his feet. "I've faced worse. Just get me the invitation, and I'll take care of the rest."
Millarca reached into a small black handbag on the table and retrieved a single card. It was gold, with intricate engravings on the front—the symbol of *Fem's Casa* embossed in silver. "Consider this your golden ticket," she said, handing it to him. "You'll be expected on the ship in two days. Until then, prepare yourself. And when the time comes… well, we'll make our moves together."
Shirou took the card, his eyes scanning the elegant design before slipping it into his jacket. "I'll be ready."
Perched atop a towering building, far enough from the luxury hotel to remain unseen but close enough for his weapon's range, an unknown man dressed in a black suit and mask that covers his appearance, adjusted the focus of his sniper monocle. He had been watching Millarca for some time now, following her movements since she arrived in Monaco.
The city below him was a glittering maze of light and wealth, but for the man, it was merely a backdrop to his mission. His target was here—inside that penthouse suite. Millarca Vordenburg, a pure-blooded vampire of the Carmilla faction, and, more importantly, a threat to the stability he was trying to maintain. He didn't need to know the details of her plan; what mattered was that she needed to be eliminated. And he would do so with the precision and efficiency he had honed over the years.
The man breathed in, his eyes narrowing as he watched the window of the suite from a distance. A flicker of movement—she wasn't alone. Someone else was in there with her. He adjusted his scope, zooming in slightly, and caught a glimpse of another figure. Shirou Emiya.
A low chuckle escaped him. He had heard of the freelancer from this world's underground network. It was amusing how Shirou seemed to attract trouble wherever he went. But the additional presence did little to dissuade the man from his mission. He had a job to do.
With deliberate care, he reached for his weapon—a custom javelin launcher, sleek and compact, but with the capacity for devastating impact. The missile he loaded into the chamber wasn't just any projectile. It was finely tuned to pierce even the strongest barriers, magical or otherwise. It had only one purpose—to kill.
The man steadied himself, lowering into a kneeling position on the building's ledge. He took aim, tracking the stillness of the penthouse suite. The wind was favorable, and at this distance, no one would even see the attack coming. He let the seconds stretch, watching them through his scope, calculating. Then, without a word, he pulled the trigger.
The javelin missile shot through the air, a silent blur of deadly force aimed directly at the heart of the suite. Millarca would not walk out of that building alive.
The luxurious penthouse suite exuded a sense of tranquility, the calm before the storm. Shirou and Millarca sat across from each other, the conversation between them slowly peeling away layers of intrigue. Millarca had just handed Shirou the golden ticket to Fem's Casa, her expression still carefully controlled, masking the true depth of her agenda.
But Shirou, ever the skeptic, could sense that she wasn't telling him everything. There was something in her eyes, a flicker of urgency that went beyond just Van Fem and the political games of the vampire factions. He could feel it, that familiar tension in the air, the kind that always preceded a betrayal or an ambush.
It was in that moment of stillness—just before Millarca could speak again—that his instincts flared. Time seemed to slow as Shirou's senses sharpened, honing in on something outside the walls of the suite. A foreign presence. Danger.
He was already moving before the glass shattered.
A high-pitched whistle tore through the air as the javelin missile came hurtling toward them, smashing through the window with a deafening explosion of glass. Millarca's eyes widened in shock, but she wasn't fast enough to react. Shirou, however, had already called forth his projection magic, his mind racing through the blueprint of his most favored defensive armament.
"Trace On! Rho Aias!"
The shimmering pink petals of the legendary shield bloomed in front of him just in time, its magical barrier intercepting the missile's impact. A violent shockwave rocked the room as the missile detonated, sending debris and flames spiraling around them. The force of the blast was enough to blow out the rest of the windows, and the air was thick with dust and smoke.
Shirou gritted his teeth, holding his ground as Rho Aias absorbed the brunt of the explosion. His reinforced muscles strained as he braced against the sheer power of the missile, but the shield held firm. After what felt like an eternity, the blast subsided, and the world returned to a muffled stillness.
The remnants of the explosion left the suite in ruins—smoke billowed through the shattered windows, curtains whipped in the wind, and the once pristine room was now littered with debris. But they were alive.
Millarca, her face pale but otherwise unharmed, stood shakily from where she had been thrown by the blast. Her crimson eyes darted to Shirou, disbelief and admiration warring in her expression. "What… was that?"
Shirou lowered his arm, the petals of Rho Aias dissolving into ethereal mist before fading away entirely. He cast a quick glance at her before turning his gaze out the now-empty window frame. "A warning. Or a kill shot." His voice was grim, his eyes scanning the city skyline.
Millarca shook her head, still regaining her composure. "That wasn't just any missile… That was a javelin. A weapon like that isn't easy to come by, even in the supernatural world."
Shirou was already piecing it together. The missile's trajectory, the precision of the attack—it hadn't been random. "Someone wanted you dead," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a glint on a faraway rooftop. "And they came prepared."
He turned to Millarca, who had already regained her usual cool demeanor despite the wreckage around them. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and gave him a wry smile. "It seems I have a few more enemies than I thought."
"Whoever it was," Shirou said, "they're not going to stop after one attempt."
Millarca's lips curled into a bitter smile. "I've had assassins come after me before, but this… this is different." She took a breath, her mind working through the implications. "I think I know who it might be. But we need to get out of here before they send more."
Shirou was already one step ahead, projecting a short sword into his hand as he walked to the door. "We're not going to stick around to find out. There's no telling if they'll send a second shot."
Millarca followed closely behind, her eyes flicking warily to the window as if expecting another missile to appear at any moment. "You saved my life just now," she said, her voice low. "I guess I owe you another favor."
Shirou shook his head. "We're not done yet. You still have to get me into Van Fem's casino."
A sharp laugh escaped her lips as she pulled a small communicator from her jacket pocket. "Oh, don't worry. I intend to keep my end of the bargain. But first, we need to deal with whoever's trying to kill me."
Shirou's gaze remained hard as he scanned the sky one last time, ensuring they weren't being followed. "We'll figure it out," he said, his voice steady. "But for now, let's get somewhere safe."
The two quickly exited the penthouse, leaving behind the destruction in the suite. As they made their way down the stairwell, Shirou couldn't shake the nagging feeling that whoever had fired that missile wasn't finished with them yet. And if it was who Millarca suspected, then this mission had just gotten far more dangerous.
The moment Shirou and Millarca left the ruined hotel suite, the night sky above Monaco became anything but peaceful. What had once been a serene evening transformed into a battlefield as they were immediately assaulted by a barrage of mini-rockets that whistled through the air, slamming into the ground around them in rapid succession.
Millarca's eyes glowed crimson, the instinct of a predator kicking in as she swiftly raised her hand. With a flick of her fingers, she conjured a burst of shimmering magical aura, sending it shooting into the sky. The aura expanded outward, intercepting several incoming rockets and detonating them before they could hit the ground. The night lit up with small explosions, bright flashes reflected in her cold, calculating gaze.
Shirou, meanwhile, had already summoned several swords into existence. Thin, gleaming blades hovered around him, like a ring of daggers, ready to be unleashed. He flicked his wrist, and the swords shot forward with a sharp whistle, each aimed at the incoming rockets. Steel met steel in midair, cutting the rockets apart before they could detonate near them.
"They're relentless," Shirou muttered, narrowing his eyes as more rockets descended toward them.
Millarca didn't respond immediately, her attention fixed on the direction from which the rockets were coming. "We need to find the source."
"I'll take care of that," Shirou said, reinforcing his vision with his *Reinforcement* magic. His eyesight sharpened as the world around him became clearer, more defined. Far in the distance, atop a high-rise building several kilometers away, he saw movement—someone dressed in black, a figure perched in a sniper's position with what looked like a launcher.
"There," Shirou said, pointing toward the distant building. "On that rooftop. That's our attacker."
Millarca's eyes followed his line of sight, her gaze narrowing dangerously as she spotted the figure in black. "I'll take care of him."
Without another word, Millarca's form blurred as she leaped into the air. Her vampiric wings unfurled from her back in a graceful arc, casting a shadow over Shirou as she soared into the night. Her speed was astonishing, leaving a rush of wind in her wake as she flew toward the distant rooftop.
Shirou stayed on the ground, his eyes still locked on the distant sniper. As Millarca closed in on her target, the figure didn't seem panicked. If anything, they remained eerily calm, almost as if they had expected this. Shirou felt the growing sense that this attacker was more than just a run-of-the-mill mercenary.
Millarca reached the rooftop in mere seconds, landing lightly on the edge. Her wings folded behind her as she straightened, her eyes glowing with the power of her vampiric blood. "You've made a grave mistake, attacking me," she said, her voice cold as ice.
The man in black, who had been crouching near the edge of the building, turned to face her. His face was concealed by a helmet-like mask, reflecting the city lights in a dark sheen. His posture was relaxed, his demeanor utterly unbothered by Millarca's sudden arrival.
In a smooth, almost casual motion, he stood and pulled out a sleek submachine gun—a Calico model, designed for rapid fire. He didn't bother responding to Millarca's taunt. Instead, he raised the weapon and squeezed the trigger.
Millarca moved instantly, her reflexes sharp as she summoned a barrier of shimmering magic. The bullets from the submachine gun slammed into the barrier, the air crackling with energy as her magic held firm. But the man didn't let up. He kept firing, the rapid staccato of gunfire echoing through the night. The barrier wavered slightly under the sheer force of the attack, but Millarca maintained it, her expression showing no signs of strain.
"You really think bullets can kill me?" she said with a sneer, stepping forward behind her barrier, inching closer to him.
The man, still silent, stopped firing only to pull something from his belt—an odd-looking grenade. Without hesitation, he tossed it directly at Millarca.
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise as the grenade detonated midair. But instead of a fiery explosion, it emitted a pulse of energy that shattered her barrier instantly. The protective magic she had so carefully maintained was torn apart as though it were nothing.
Millarca staggered back slightly, her teeth gritting in frustration. "Damn it," she hissed, quickly raising her hand to cast another spell, but the man was already moving. He dashed toward her with speed that belied his human nature, closing the distance between them in seconds.
Before she could react, he was upon her.
With precise, calculated strikes, the man lashed out, forcing Millarca to go on the defensive. She blocked his attacks with quick, sharp movements, her vampiric strength giving her the edge in raw power, but there was something about him—his movements were too practiced, too fluid. He wasn't just a regular human. No, this was someone who had been trained to fight beings like her.
Millarca retaliated, her aura flaring as she launched a wave of magical energy toward him. The violet blast crackled through the air, aimed directly at his chest. But with a swift, almost effortless motion, the man dodged, ducking beneath the attack and closing in once more.
Her eyes narrowed. This wasn't an ordinary fighter. His reflexes, his awareness of her magical abilities—it could only mean one thing.
"You're an Alchemist, aren't you?" Millarca spat, the realization hitting her like a cold wave. "Only a rogue alchemist would fight like this—using gadgets to counter magic."
The man finally spoke, his voice distorted through the mask. "I am Juste. And my mission is to uphold Justice."
"Justice?" Millarca echoed, her voice laced with disdain. "Is that what you call this? Attacking me in the shadows?"
The man didn't bother responding to her taunt. Instead, he shifted his stance and with a flick of his wrist, something mechanical unfolded from his arms—chainsaws, sleek and deadly, extending from both his arms and legs. They whirred to life with a menacing growl, and without a word, he lunged at Millarca with terrifying speed.
Millarca barely had time to react before he was upon her again, his chainsaw arms slashing through the air. She raised her arms to block, her enhanced strength allowing her to meet his strikes head-on. But the power behind his attacks was surprising. Despite his smaller frame compared to her vampiric physique, he was unrelenting, each strike aimed with deadly precision.
One of his chainsaws grazed her arm, tearing through the fabric of her magically-reinforced clothes and slicing through the skin beneath. Millarca let out a hiss of pain, her eyes flashing with anger. The attack shouldn't have gotten through her defenses—yet it did. The realization sent a chill through her. Whoever this man was, he wasn't just dangerous—he was far more skilled than she had anticipated.
She fought back with a furious barrage of magical energy, sending blast after blast of raw power at him, but he dodged with inhuman agility, closing the distance again. His chainsaws sliced through the air, cutting through her defenses with terrifying ease. Another strike, and her coat was torn to shreds, leaving her exposed. Millarca staggered back, her breath coming in sharp bursts.
"You're better than I thought," she admitted, wiping blood from her mouth. "But I won't fall so easily."
The man didn't give her time to recover. He reached for another grenade—this time, an electrical pulse grenade. With a swift motion, he tossed it at her, the device exploding with a sharp crack of electricity.
The shockwave hit her like a freight train. Millarca screamed as the current surged through her, her muscles locking up. Worse, her magic—her very connection to her vampiric abilities—was suddenly cut off, as if the grenade had severed her access to her own power.
For the first time in the fight, Millarca felt fear.
She fell to her knees, her body trembling from the residual effects of the grenade. Her mind raced, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't summon her magic. It was as if a wall had been placed between her and her abilities.
The man stepped forward, his chainsaws revving with a high-pitched whine. He raised one arm, preparing to bring it down in a killing blow. "I told you," he said, his voice cold and detached. "My mission is Justice. And you, Millarca Vordenburg, are a threat."
Millarca closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable.
But the blow never came.
A sharp, whistling sound cut through the air, followed by a sudden thud. The man staggered back, an arrow embedded in the ground just inches from where he stood.
Millarca's eyes snapped open just in time to see Shirou standing on the rooftop's edge, a bow in hand, his eyes locked onto the masked man. "That's enough," Shirou said, his voice steady.
The man—Juste—paused, turning his masked face toward Shirou. For a moment, silence hung in the air between them, the chainsaws still whirring menacingly.
"You," Juste said, his tone filled with recognition. "You're the mercenary. Shirou Emiya."
Shirou didn't lower his bow, his gaze unwavering. "Why are you attacking her?" he demanded.
Juste tilted his head slightly, the reflective surface of his helmet catching the city lights. "She's a vampire. A threat to humanity," he repeated coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. "That's all the reason I need."
Shirou's grip tightened on the bow, his eyes narrowing. "Is that how you justify it? Attacking in the shadows, calling it 'justice'? She's more than that, and you don't know the full story."
The masked man didn't flinch, the whir of his chainsaws still filling the air. "More than a vampire? Don't make me laugh. Your kind should know better, Emiya. Haven't you made a career out of destroying things like her? How many supernatural creatures have you killed? And yet, you stand here protecting this one?"
Shirou remained silent for a moment, his thoughts racing. The truth was, Juste wasn't wrong. His mercenary work had often involved eliminating supernatural threats, and he had rarely hesitated. But Millarca... she was a little different. They had a complicated history, one built on mutualism, despite her vampiric nature. That wasn't something he could easily explain, least of all to someone like Juste.
"I don't need to explain myself to you," Shirou finally replied. "But if you think I'll let you kill her, you're mistaken."
Juste let out a harsh, distorted laugh. "You're a hypocrite, Emiya. Trying to play the hero, but you're no different from the rest of us. Fine then. If you want to stand in my way, so be it."
The chainsaws on his arms revved louder as he took a step forward, his posture shifting into a combat stance. "I'll cut through you first, then her. Let's see if your so-called ideals hold up in a fight."
He pointed one of the chainsaws toward Shirou, the air between them thick with tension. "I challenge you, Shirou Emiya. Let's settle this right now. Show me the strength of your convictions—if you can."
Thus, a clash between a Mind of Steel and Will of Steel is about to unfold.
To be Continued.
That's it for now. So, as you can see from the hints in this chapter, the Fem's Casa game won't be the only problem that he has to deal with in Monaco. Because he's also have to help Millarca to search for Elmenhilde while occasionally being stalked and attacked by Juste. And this... Is just the beginning of the problems he has to face. Now, when it comes to Shirou's secondary power, I've decided what Sacred Gear I will give him in future chapters. All I can say is... In this story, Shirou will completely replaced Mitsuya.
Well, that's all I can say for now. If have any comments that could help with the story. Then feel free to speak on the comment section. And also thanks to Dillan97 for giving me an inspiration to make the plot for the Fem's Casa Arc richer.