Chapter 4: Fem's Casa Part 4
The faint light of dawn began to push through the heavy curtains of the hotel suite, casting long shadows across the room. The silence was heavy, interrupted only by the occasional sound of the ocean in the distance. Monaco was still asleep, but the two figures in the hotel room were wide awake, their minds far from the calm outside.
Millarca sat on the arm of a chair, legs crossed, looking relaxed but focused. Her familiar—a bat with glowing red eyes—rested on her shoulder, its wings twitching occasionally as it scanned the room, sensing the energy of its mistress. Millarca's fingers tapped rhythmically against her knee as she sifted through the information her familiar had brought back, its reconnaissance from the night before already piecing together the next step in their search.
Shirou stood nearby, his posture calm but alert, leaning slightly against the edge of a desk. His eyes were fixed on Millarca, waiting for her to speak, knowing this mission was hers to lead. While he had his own motivations for being here, it was Millarca's hunt for Elmenhilde that had brought them to Monaco, and he respected her authority on the matter.
"You trust your familiar's findings, I assume?" Shirou asked quietly, breaking the silence.
Millarca smiled faintly, her crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Always. My familiar caught sight of Morte at the harbor, just after midnight. He wasn't alone." Her tone was measured, confident. She leaned forward slightly, clearly energized by the lead. "We've been after him for days, but this time we're close. His trail leads us straight to the heart of his operation."
Shirou nodded. He knew better than to doubt Millarca when it came to this. She had a certain intensity about her when on the hunt—a predatory focus that was difficult to match. If she said Morte was at the harbor, then he was certain they were close. Still, caution tugged at him.
"And you're sure it's tied to Elmenhilde?" he asked, his voice steady but curious. He trusted Millarca's instincts, but the web they were caught in was complex.
"Absolutely," Millarca responded confidently. Her fingers stilled as she looked up at him. "Elmenhilde doesn't have the resources to pull off something like this alone. Morte's the only one with enough influence to cover her tracks. And with Valerie in her hands, she has the leverage she needs to get his full cooperation."
Shirou shifted his weight slightly, arms crossed as he considered her words. It all made sense. Elmenhilde had kidnapped Valerie Tepes, intending to use her Sephiroth Graal to assassinate Van Fem, the most powerful vampire lord in Monaco. If Morte was indeed involved, then he's the key to finding Elmenhilde.
"Which means we need to find him," Shirou said, a note of resolve in his voice. "He's likely the key for us to find Elmenhilde and Valerie."
Millarca's eyes flashed with a dangerous edge, her lips curving into a sharp smile. "Exactly. If we get to Morte first, he'll have no choice but to tell us where Elmenhilde is hiding. She's not foolish enough to act alone. And if we corner him—" she let her words trail off, the implication hanging in the air.
Shirou stayed quiet for a moment, watching her. This was her hunt, her mission, and he could see the fire in her eyes. She had personal stakes in this, and while he was here for his own reasons, he knew better than to interfere with her focus.
"You lead," Shirou said simply, his tone a blend of respect and readiness. "What's the plan?"
Millarca's smirk deepened, satisfied with his acknowledgment. She stood up, brushing off her coat and beginning to pace slowly, her mind clearly organizing the next steps.
"We're heading to the harbor before sunrise," she said, her voice cool but commanding. "Morte left in a hurry last night. The familiar caught him moving quickly—probably spooked by something. But even if he's gone, there will be traces left behind. He's been using the harbor for weeks. It's where he's most vulnerable."
She paused briefly, then continued. "We'll slip in quietly, see what we can find. If he's still there, we confront him. If not, we track down the trail he left behind. Either way, we're getting answers."
Shirou listened carefully, nodding along to her strategy. It was methodical, efficient—everything he expected from Millarca. She was driven, but not reckless, always one step ahead of her prey. It was something he could appreciate.
"What about his men?" he asked, knowing that Morte wasn't the type to operate alone.
Millarca gave a light shrug, unfazed. "If they're there, we deal with them. I'm not concerned about a handful of hired thugs." She glanced at him, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Besides, with your magecraft, I doubt they'll pose much of a threat."
Shirou didn't reply, but his lips twitched slightly at the corner, acknowledging her confidence in him. Though he was still coming to terms with the changes in his own magic, there was no denying that his projection had become more versatile lately. He couldn't quite put his finger on why—his reality marble, Unlimited Blade Works, had always been a tool for replicating weapons, but lately, it had been… different. He could adapt his projections in ways that felt almost organic, as though they were responding to his thoughts with more freedom than before. It's like now he can project things that he initially couldn't now.
He have made an experiment about it last night when Millarca was a sleep. He tried to project weapons that's initially took a lot of efforts before arriving in this world, like modern weaponries. During his initial clash with Juste the other day, he have use Structural Grasping to analyse and compy his ordinances, and he was surprised that he can actually do it without having a headache, not to mention that his projection doesn't suffer from any degradation when he projected Juste's mini wrist rocket launcher.
"Right," Shirou said, refocusing on the task at hand. "We move in quietly, avoid confrontation unless necessary."
Millarca gave him a nod of approval. "Exactly. We're not there to make a scene—we're there to get information. If Morte has any clue where Elmenhilde's hiding with Valerie, we need it before tonight."
Shirou pushed away from the desk, straightening up as he prepared himself mentally for the mission. "Then we shouldn't waste any more time. Let's go."
Millarca smiled approvingly, satisfied with his readiness. "Good. I'll send my familiar ahead again—it will give us a better idea of what we're walking into."
With a soft gesture, she lifted her hand, and her bat familiar fluttered its wings, letting out a soft screech before it launched itself out of the balcony window. The night swallowed it up as it vanished into the dark, searching ahead for any signs of life at the harbor.
"We'll have the information we need by the time we arrive," Millarca said confidently, slipping on her long coat and adjusting it at the collar. She moved with an elegant ease, the natural grace of a vampire showing in her every motion.
Shirou, meanwhile, stood quietly by the door, waiting as she finished her preparations. There was a calm readiness to his posture, but underneath, his mind was still racing with thoughts about what lay ahead—and what he would have to do if things went sideways.
"You're surprisingly quiet tonight," Millarca remarked, glancing at him as she pulled her gloves on. "Usually, you're more… assertive. What's going on in that head of yours?"
Shirou met her gaze, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Just thinking. You said it yourself—if we don't get to Morte, Elmenhilde might already be a step ahead."
Millarca's gaze softened briefly, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. "You're not wrong," she admitted. "But we'll get to him first. We don't have room for doubt right now."
Shirou nodded silently. He knew that hesitation would get them nowhere. Trusting in Millarca's plan was the only way forward now.
"Let's go, then," he said, his voice steady and calm. "Before the sun rises."
And hopefully they can wrap this case up before the first round of the Fem's Casa game begin later tonight.
The pale light of dawn had finally crept over the horizon as Shirou and Millarca approached the quiet harbor. The faint hum of the ocean filled the air, a peaceful lull that felt at odds with the grim task they were about to undertake. Millarca led the way, her movements swift and silent as she maneuvered through the narrow streets leading to the docks. Her crimson eyes were focused, gleaming with determination.
Shirou followed closely, his gaze sweeping the area as they neared the edge of the harbor. The shadows from the shipping containers and docked boats stretched long in the early morning light, but there was no sign of movement. No figures lurking about, no sounds of hurried footsteps. Everything seemed... too quiet.
"They're not here," Shirou muttered under his breath, scanning the deserted piers.
Millarca stopped at the edge of the dock, her expression hardening as she surveyed the empty scene. Her bat familiar had been trailing ahead of them, and now it returned to her shoulder, its red eyes narrowing. It too had found nothing.
"Morte and his men didn't come back after last night," Millarca confirmed, her voice low and irritated. She clenched her fists, her frustration palpable. "Damn it. We're a step behind again."
Shirou frowned but stayed composed, his mind quickly shifting into problem-solving mode. "If they didn't return here, they've probably moved to a new location. They can't have gone far—not with Elmenhilde involved. She wouldn't risk losing their protection just yet."
Millarca nodded, though her annoyance lingered. She had been counting on catching Morte here, expecting to corner him and force out the information about Elmenhilde's whereabouts. But now, it seemed that lead was slipping through their fingers.
"They're cautious," she said with a slight snarl. "But they'll slip up soon. We just need to keep digging."
Shirou agreed, though he couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. Fem's Casa was later that evening, and if they couldn't locate Elmenhilde and Valerie before then, Van Fem would be in danger. Worse yet, Valerie might not survive whatever dark plan Elmenhilde had concocted to assassinate the vampire lord.
They began to walk further into the harbor, cautiously checking the surrounding buildings for any clues. The scent of saltwater filled the air, mixing with the faint metallic smell of machinery. Empty shipping crates were stacked high around them, creating a maze of dark passageways and alleys between the containers.
As they ventured deeper into the labyrinth of the harbor, Shirou noticed a slight shift in the air—something subtle, almost imperceptible. His senses sharpened, his instincts telling him that they were no longer alone.
"Millarca," Shirou warned in a hushed tone, "we're not alone."
Before Millarca could respond, a soft chuckle echoed through the air, light and teasing, as if someone had been waiting for the perfect moment to make their presence known. A figure stepped out from behind one of the nearby cargo containers, her movements fluid and graceful, like a predator surveying its prey.
Shirou's eyes immediately locked onto the woman approaching them. She was slender, with long black hair that cascaded down her back, and golden eyes that glimmered with mischief. Her lips curled into an amused smile as she strode toward them with an air of confidence.
It was her—the mysterious woman from the bar in Monaco.
The one who had approached him before, offering help.
Shirou's body tensed, and his hand hovered over his weapon, ready to draw if necessary. He hadn't trusted her back then, and her sudden appearance now made him even more suspicious.
The woman stopped a few feet away, her golden eyes flicking between Shirou and Millarca. She tilted her head, her smile widening.
"Well, well," she said in a light, playful tone, "what a surprise. I didn't expect to run into you two here so early. Looking for something, perhaps?"
Shirou didn't respond immediately, his gaze steady on her, but his mind was already racing. Why was she here? How did she know where to find them? Was she connected to Morte somehow?
Before Shirou could speak, Millarca stiffened beside him. Her entire posture shifted from alert to outright hostility. She took a step forward, glaring at the woman with barely concealed rage.
"You!" Millarca spat, her tone dripping with venom. "You're the stray devil who slaughtered your own master and your peerage members. What are you doing here, Kuroka?"
Shirou blinked in surprise, casting a quick glance at Millarca. Kuroka? He hadn't known her name before now, nor had he known about her dark history. A stray devil—a dangerous one at that. Millarca's reaction told him everything he needed to know. This woman was not someone to be taken lightly.
Kuroka, however, seemed entirely unbothered by Millarca's outburst. Instead, she chuckled softly, placing a hand on her hip and flashing a teasing smile.
"Oh my, you're being antagonistic towards me because of that, aren't you, Millarca-chan?" Kuroka cooed, her tone light and mocking. "That was such a long time ago. Besides, I had my reasons."
Shirou's wariness deepened as he watched the exchange. Millarca's antagonism toward this woman made sense now. Kuroka wasn't just a mysterious information broker—she was dangerous, someone who had betrayed her own kind. The fact that she had approached him earlier with an offer of help now seemed all the more suspicious.
But Kuroka wasn't done yet. Her golden eyes slid back to Shirou, and her tone shifted—becoming more sultry, almost flirtatious.
"Shirou-kun~," she purred, stepping closer to him with a cat-like grace, "have you thought any more about my offer, Nya~? I can help you find Elmenhilde, you know. All you have to do is let me lend a hand."
Shirou's eyes narrowed. Kuroka's sudden appearance here, combined with her past, made him wary. And yet, there was something unsettlingly persuasive about her confidence. His instincts told him not to trust her—but his pragmatic side whispered that if she really did have information, she could be useful.
Millarca, however, was having none of it.
"Don't listen to her, Shirou!" she snapped, her tone fierce as she stepped between him and Kuroka. "She's nothing but a thieving cat, a backstabber. She killed her own master for power. You can't trust her."
Kuroka let out a soft laugh, clearly amused by Millarca's aggression. She ignored the vampire entirely and focused her attention on Shirou, her golden eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Millarca-chan's so harsh, isn't she?" Kuroka said in a mock-hurt tone, her smile never fading. "I'm just trying to help. Besides, I know you're not the type to make decisions based on grudges, right, Shirou-kun~?"
Shirou's mind raced as he weighed the situation. Millarca's antagonistic attitude toward Kuroka was obvious and justified, but something about Kuroka's persistence made him pause. She had information, and as dangerous as she was, she hadn't yet shown hostility toward them—only mischief. The question was: could she be trusted enough, even temporarily?
"If you know where Morte is," Shirou said cautiously, his voice measured, "then tell me. If your information is good, I might consider letting you help. But this is your one chance."
Millarca shot Shirou a look of disbelief, clearly ready to protest, but Shirou raised a hand to silence her. "We need leads, Millarca," he said firmly. "If she's lying, we'll deal with it."
Kuroka's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she stepped closer, placing a finger on her lips thoughtfully. "Mmm, fair enough," she said in a singsong voice. "Well, last night I saw Morte and his little gang moving to a warehouse in the northern district. It's one of their supply depots, so I'd bet they're still there, Nya."
Shirou glanced at Millarca, who still looked like she was ready to tear Kuroka apart, but he could see the logic in her words. They had searched the harbor and found nothing. The northern district could be their next stop.
"Shirou, this is a mistake," Millarca said, her voice low and tense. "We can't trust her."
Shirou gave a small nod, understanding her concern. "We don't have to trust her," he replied quietly. "But we can see if she's telling the truth."
Kuroka, sensing the shift, moved even closer, her eyes gleaming with playfulness. "Oh, I promise you won't regret it, Shirou-kun," she purred, stepping behind him and—before he could react—wrapping her arms around him in a sudden, teasing hug. Her soft body pressed against his back as she leaned close, her breath warm against his neck.
"Shirou-kun, you'll protect me from the big bad vampire if she gets angry, won't you~?" she teased, her tone sultry as she clung to him.
Shirou froze, trying to remain outwardly unfazed, but inwardly, he was more than a little flustered. Kuroka's sudden closeness and the feel of her body pressed against him made it difficult to focus. He was still young, after all, and despite his cold and detached exterior, he wasn't immune to such distractions.
Millarca, meanwhile, looked ready to explode. "Get. Off. Him," she hissed, her voice dangerously low.
Kuroka only laughed and gave Shirou one last squeeze before releasing him. "I'll lead the way to the warehouse, Shirou-kun," she said with a wink. "Follow me."
Shirou exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. "Fine," he said, his voice steady. "Lead the way."
"Roger, Nyaa~" Kuroka sauntered ahead, her hips swaying with each step as she led the duo towards their next destination.
The sky was a deep indigo as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a muted glow over Monaco's harbor. Shirou, Millarca, and Kuroka moved in silence as they approached the warehouse Kuroka had led them to—a large, weathered building that was supposedly one of Morte's supply depots. The chill of the early morning air wrapped around them, but it was the tension between the three that weighed heavier.
Shirou's focus was sharp, his eyes scanning every detail of their surroundings. Millarca, walking beside him, had an air of wariness about her, her vampiric senses on high alert. Kuroka, ever the enigma, seemed more relaxed, her steps almost playful as she strode confidently ahead. Shirou kept his gaze on her for a moment, still uncertain whether to fully trust the strange, flirtatious woman.
"This is it, Nya." Kuroka said with a grin, pointing towards the large, steel doors of the warehouse. "Morte's men should be keeping something valuable here, but who knows what else they might be hiding. I didn't get a good look last time."
Shirou exchanged a glance with Millarca, her red eyes narrowing. She clearly wasn't happy about relying on Kuroka, but they had no other leads. With a slight nod, Shirou decided to move forward. It was time to investigate.
To avoid detection, Shirou quickly projected Carnwennan, a dagger with the ability to cloak its user and anyone nearby in invisibility. The familiar prana flow hummed through his circuits as he activated the weapon's effect, shrouding himself, Millarca, and Kuroka in a veil that made them invisible to the naked eye.
"Oooh~, that's an interesting dagger, Nya! Where did you get it?" Kuroka asked with genuine curiosity while eyeing the dagger that Shirou just summoned from thin air. However, Shirou didn't answer her.
"Stay close," he whispered, his voice low and calm.
Together, they crept into the warehouse, careful not to make any sound as they slipped past the entrance. The interior was dark, lit only by faint emergency lights that cast long shadows over the rows of crates and containers. The air was heavy with the scent of oil, dust, and something else—something faintly magical.
"Where are they?" Millarca murmured, her voice barely audible as her eyes scanned the room. Her vampiric instincts were on edge, though she didn't yet sense any immediate danger.
"They should be around, Nya." Kuroka whispered back, her voice teasing but hushed, "unless they're running late for their own party."
The group spread out, moving carefully through the shadows. Shirou's eyes shifted to the various crates and boxes lining the walls, some marked with runes he couldn't immediately decipher. This was no ordinary smuggling operation; there were magical products here, but their exact nature was still unclear.
After a few minutes of searching, they found something more disturbing—a large, glass chamber tucked away at the far side of the warehouse. Inside was a frozen body. The sight of the preserved demon corpse made Shirou's pulse quicken. It was unlike anything he had encountered before. The creature's appearance was monstrous—its body twisted and deformed, with spines protruding from its back and what appeared to be several dark, jagged wounds etched across its chest.
Shirou stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. Instinctively, he reached out with his magic to perform Structural Grasping, his senses diving into the material of the frozen demon. Immediately, he was hit with a flood of information, foreign and alien. The magic surrounding the corpse was of a kind he had never encountered before, dark and twisted, yet oddly familiar. It clawed at his mind, sending sharp, piercing pain through his skull.
He stumbled back, gasping as a splitting headache surged through him. His vision blurred for a moment as he fought to regain his composure.
"Shirou?" Millarca's voice was tense as she moved to his side. "What happened?"
"It's... nothing," he said, his breath still uneven. The headache began to subside, but the aftershocks lingered. "That thing... it's not natural. I can't explain it, but whatever it is, it's powerful. Dangerous."
Kuroka, who had been watching silently, raised an eyebrow. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Shirou-kun."
"It's not a ghost," Shirou muttered, glancing back at the frozen demon. "It's something far worse."
Before he could explain further, the sound of footsteps echoed through the warehouse. Shirou tensed immediately, realizing the invisibility effect of Carnwennan had faded when his concentration broke during the Structural Grasping.
One of Morte's henchmen appeared from the shadows, his eyes widening in shock as he spotted the intruders. Shirou's heart raced—he knew they'd been discovered.
Millarca moved in an instant, lunging at the man with vampiric speed. Her fist connected with his jaw, sending him crumpling to the ground in a swift, brutal motion. But the damage had already been done—the man had managed to trigger an alarm on his radio before she knocked him unconscious.
"Damn it," Millarca hissed under her breath.
From the far end of the warehouse, more figures began to emerge—Morte's men, armed and ready. The air around them crackled with magic as they drew weapons, some wielding guns laced with enchanted rounds, others brandishing swords and daggers with magical enhancements.
"So much for sneaking around," Shirou muttered, summoning Kanshou and Bakuya into his hands. The familiar weight of the twin blades brought a sense of calm amidst the chaos.
Kuroka sighed dramatically. "I knew this would happen. I guess it's time for the fun to begin, Nyaa~!"
The first wave of enemies charged forward, weapons raised. Shirou immediately surged into action, his twin swords flashing as he parried a series of gunshots aimed directly at him. Shirou uses his Structural Grasping on the bullets and he notices that the enchanted bullets—has similar in nature to the deadly Origin Bullets Kiritsugu once used—were fast and dangerous, but Shirou's reflexes were honed.
"Becareful with those bullets! If you got hit with it even just once, it will be an instant death for you!" Shirou warned his teammates about the dangers of the enchanted bullets. His blades danced, deflecting each round with precision, sending them ricocheting into the walls.
"Right!"
"Okay, Nyaa~!"
Millarca and Kuroka responded to Shirou's warning in unison as they're busy fighting their own opponents.
Millarca, was a blur of motion. She tore through the thugs with ease, her fists crashing into their bodies with bone-shattering force. Her vampiric strength was terrifying, each blow sending enemies flying across the warehouse like rag dolls.
Kuroka, never one to be left out of the action, moved with feline grace. Her hands glowed with a dark, swirling energy as she launched spells at the approaching enemies. Her attacks were playful yet deadly, tendrils of magic coiling around her foes and crushing them with an effortless flick of her wrist.
One of the thugs aimed his rifle directly at Shirou, but before he could pull the trigger, Shirou projected a shield in front of him, blocking the shot. The force of the bullet sent cracks through the magical barrier, but it held strong. Shirou countered with a swift, lethal strike, his blades slicing through the man's defenses with ease.
"Impressive," Kuroka remarked, her voice lilting as she glanced over at Shirou. "I didn't expect you to be so capable and resourceful, Shirou-kun."
"This isn't the time for compliments," he replied sharply, his focus entirely on the battle.
The gunfire continued, but the tide of the fight quickly shifted in favor of Shirou, Millarca, and Kuroka. Despite the magical rounds and enchanted weapons their enemies wielded, they were no match for the trio's combined might.
Millarca, driven by a fierce determination, took down her opponents with ruthless efficiency. Her strikes were lethal, her movements precise. She was a force of nature, unstoppable and unyielding.
Kuroka fought with a more playful style, toying with her enemies before delivering the finishing blow. Her smile never wavered, even as her dark magic tore through the bodies of Morte's henchmen. At one point, she caught Shirou's eye, her expression teasing as she effortlessly dispatched another foe.
"Enjoying the show, Shirou-kun?"
He ignored her, focusing instead on the remaining enemies.
Soon, the warehouse was littered with the bodies of Morte's men—some dead, others barely conscious. Shirou, panting slightly, stood over one of the survivors, his swords still drawn.
"We need answers," he said, his voice cold.
Millarca and Kuroka moved in as well, each prepared to use their own methods of interrogation. The thug on the ground looked terrified, but Shirou didn't care. They needed information, and they would get it by any means necessary.
Shirou stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Where's Morte? Where are Elmenhilde and Valerie?"
The man stammered, his eyes darting nervously between the three of them. "I-I don't know! We don't know anything about those girls!"
Shirou's grip tightened on his blade, but he held back. Millarca, however, didn't hesitate—her eyes glowing with vampiric intensity, she used her hypnotic powers to force the thug to speak.
"Tell us everything you know," she commanded, her voice dripping with dark authority.
The man's eyes glazed over as he succumbed to Millarca's control. "M-Morte... he's planning to attend the Fem's Casa event tonight. He didn't say why, just that he needed to be there. Something about business with a very important person he have to meet at Van Fem's private cruise ship..."
Shirou exchanged a glance with Millarca, his brow furrowed in thought. Morte attending Fem's Casa? That didn't make sense, especially considering Van-Fem and Morte were rivals in the underworld. Why would he risk attending an event hosted by Van-Fem, someone with enough power and influence to be a direct threat?
Millarca's expression darkened as she considered the information, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Business in Van-Fem's private cruise ship? That's hard to believe. They've been at each other's throats for years. This doesn't add up."
Shirou nodded, agreeing. Something was off, but they didn't have the luxury of time to piece it together just yet. With the first round of Fem's Casa happening later that evening, it was crucial that they stay ahead of Morte's plan.
"Is that all you know?" Shirou asked, his tone deadly serious.
The man nodded frantically, still under Millarca's hypnotic influence. "Y-Yes! That's all I know, I swear! We were just told to keep this place under guard. Morte didn't give us any more details."
Kuroka, who had been silent during the interrogation, suddenly chimed in with a playful smirk. "Well, well, sounds like tonight's going to be more interesting than I thought." She looked over at Shirou, her tone light but teasing. "Guess you'll have to take me to the party after all, huh?"
Shirou ignored her comment for the moment, his mind still racing through the implications of what they had just learned. He turned to Millarca, who gave him a slight nod, indicating she was ready to move on.
"Looks like we'll have to find out more tonight," Shirou said, stepping back from the man, who slumped to the floor, exhausted and broken. "But we can't leave this place intact. Too many loose ends."
Millarca's gaze flickered toward the crates of magical items and the frozen demon corpse, her lips curling in disgust. "Agreed. We burn everything."
Without another word, Shirou raised his hand and activated a projection. In a flash, a perfect replica of Caladbolg appeared, the twisted spiral sword humming with destructive energy. He aimed it at the crates, and with a sharp release of prana, the weapon exploded forward in a violent arc, tearing through the warehouse with devastating force.
The magical crates burst into flames, the magical energy within them igniting in a brilliant, chaotic blaze. The demon corpse shattered under the intense pressure, its remains evaporating in the searing heat.
Within moments, the entire warehouse was engulfed in fire, the flames licking at the walls and ceiling as the structure began to collapse. Shirou, Millarca, and Kuroka moved swiftly, retreating through the back entrance and out into the early morning light.
As they reached a safe distance, Shirou paused, glancing back at the burning building. The sight of it disappearing in flames left him with a small sense of satisfaction—one less hideout for Morte's men, and one less mystery to deal with.
"Good work," Millarca muttered as she stood beside him, her arms crossed. "But this just raises more questions."
Shirou nodded. "We'll get answers tonight."
Kuroka, who had been trailing behind them with a sly grin on her face, suddenly stepped forward, her tone shifting from playful to earnest. "Sooo... does this mean I've proven myself useful enough for you two, Nya?"
Millarca's eyes narrowed, her previous animosity toward the stray devil bubbling to the surface. "You might have helped, but that doesn't mean I trust you. I still don't want you anywhere near us."
Kuroka pouted dramatically, stepping closer to Shirou, her hands clasped behind her back as she leaned forward with a teasing glint in her eyes. "But Shirou-kun here made a promise, didn't you? You said if I helped, you'd let me join your little team, even if it's temporary."
Shirou sighed internally, already anticipating Millarca's displeasure. He had promised Kuroka a chance, and despite his personal reservations, she had come through for them by leading them to the warehouse and assisting in the fight. It was clear she had her own motivations, but for now, she was useful.
"I did promise," Shirou admitted, his tone calm but firm. "You've proven yourself, so for now, you're in. But this isn't permanent, and you follow our lead."
Kuroka's eyes sparkled with triumph. "Aww, I knew you'd see it my way, Shirou-kun."
Millarca, clearly annoyed, shot Shirou a look of disbelief. "You're really letting her join us? This is a mistake, I can feel it."
Shirou met her gaze steadily, his expression composed. "We need all the help we can get. If she proves unreliable, I'll deal with it."
Kuroka, as if sensing the tension, sidled up to Shirou with a mischievous grin, her voice dropping to a sultry tone. "Don't worry, Shirou-kun. I'll behave. In fact, maybe I can even share a room with you at the hotel. As a thank you for letting me join—"
"Enough," Shirou said, his tone sharp as he took a step away from her advances. He wasn't in the mood for her flirtations, especially after the chaos they had just endured. "We have a lot to do before tonight."
Kuroka chuckled, unbothered by his rejection. She playfully rested her chin on her hand, watching him with a gleam in her golden eyes. "Alright, alright. Just thought I'd offer. It's not every day I get to tease someone like you."
Millarca, who had been watching the exchange with growing irritation, crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "You're not coming back to the hotel with us. Find your own place to stay."
Kuroka tilted her head, her cat-like eyes narrowing in amusement. "Oh? And who made you the boss, Millarca-chan?"
Shirou, sensing another argument brewing, raised his hand to cut them off. "She's coming with us, but she stays out of trouble. No funny business, Kuroka."
For the first time, Kuroka's expression softened slightly, as if sensing that Shirou was laying down a boundary. She relented with a playful shrug. "Alright, I get it. No funny business."
Millarca rolled her eyes but stayed silent, clearly begrudging Shirou's decision but unwilling to argue further.
With the supply depot reduced to ashes and a tenuous alliance with Kuroka now in place, Shirou led the way back toward the hotel. The sun was starting to rise higher, casting the harbor in a warm golden light. But there was no time to relax. Tonight, at Fem's Casa, they would finally confront Morte, and perhaps uncover the deeper mystery of Elmenhilde's plan.
As they walked back, Shirou couldn't help but wonder just how far this rabbit hole went—and what other dangerous secrets were waiting for them once the sun finally set over Monaco.
Once they arrived back at the hotel, the three of them moved quickly to prepare for the night ahead. Shirou's thoughts were already racing toward the evening's event, calculating the possible scenarios they might face. The atmosphere was tense, but underneath it all, there was a sense of purpose. Whatever Morte had planned at Fem's Casa, they would be ready.
As they parted ways to rest and prepare for the first round of the casino game, Kuroka's teasing voice lingered in the back of Shirou's mind. Despite the distractions she brought, there was no denying that she could be a valuable asset. But as with all things, Shirou knew he would need to be cautious. Allies in this world were often temporary, and Kuroka was not one to be fully trusted.
The game was far from over, and tonight would only be the beginning.
Shirou stood on the pier, the setting sun casting a golden glow over Monaco's bustling harbor. In front of him was the luxurious private cruise ship owned by *Van Fem, a ship that seemed almost too extravagant to belong to a vampire. The vessel was illuminated by an array of lights that sparkled like a floating palace, drawing attention from the surrounding yachts. This was where the first round of *Fem's Casa, Van Fem's infamous casino tournament, would take place.
Next to Shirou, Millarca adjusted her red dress, eyeing the ship with a mixture of anticipation and caution. Her sharp senses, both as a vampire and a noblewoman, were on high alert. "We're walking into a den of wolves," she muttered, her crimson eyes scanning the crowd of guests boarding the ship. "Morte will be here, and there's no telling who else might show up."
Shirou, dressed in a tailored suit to blend in with the wealthy elite, nodded, his expression serious. His goals were clear: win the first round of the casino tournament and find Morte. If he could track down Jester Karture, one of the five targets Zelretch had tasked him with eliminating, all the better. But first, they had to get through the night without raising too many suspicions.
As they prepared to board, Shirou noticed Kuroka lingering a few steps behind them. She had been unusually quiet, her usual teasing demeanor gone. Instead, there was an uneasy tension in her body language, her cat-like eyes darting around the crowd of elegantly dressed guests.
"Something wrong?" Shirou asked, raising an eyebrow.
Kuroka looked at him with a faint frown before crossing her arms defensively. "I'm not going."
Shirou blinked, surprised. "Why not?"
Kuroka's gaze flicked toward the ship. "There are… people on that ship I don't want to see. Some of the demons from the 72 Pillars. If they see me, things won't end well."
Millarca scoffed softly. "That's an understatement. They'll execute you on the spot for what you did to your former master's peerage. I'm surprised you even got this close."
Kuroka shot her a glare but didn't argue the point. Instead, she turned back to Shirou, her voice low but serious. "I'll stay out of sight for now. I don't want to deal with old grudges tonight. You two can handle this without me."
Shirou studied her for a moment, sensing that there was more to her decision than she was letting on. But now wasn't the time to press for details. He gave her a nod of understanding. "Fine. Stay close to the hotel, and don't get into trouble."
Kuroka's lips curved into a half-smile, her usual playfulness returning for a brief moment. "Don't worry, Shirou-kun. I'll be good."
With that, she disappeared into the shadows, leaving Shirou and Millarca to board the ship. As they walked up the gangway, the sound of classical music and the chatter of the wealthy elite grew louder. The atmosphere was refined, but there was an undercurrent of tension—a sense that beneath the elegance, something dangerous lurked.
Once on board, Shirou and Millarca split up, each with their own task. Millarca was to find Morte and gather information, while Shirou focused on winning the first round of the casino tournament. The stakes were high. Only by advancing through the rounds could Shirou meet Van Fem in person, the key to tracking down Jester Karture.
The casino floor of the ship was a grand affair, with tables arranged in a sprawling, chandelier-lit hall. Guests, dressed in fine suits and evening gowns, mingled around the tables, sipping expensive drinks and placing bets with an ease that spoke of obscene wealth. Dealers in black-tie uniforms shuffled cards, spun roulette wheels, and tossed dice with practiced precision.
Shirou moved through the crowd, his eyes scanning the tables, observing the games being played. The first round of Fem's Casa was made up of various traditional casino games—blackjack, roulette, poker, baccarat, and more. Each player would be given a set amount of chips, and by the end of the evening, only those with the highest chip counts would move on to the second round.
Shirou decided to start with baccarat, a game of luck but one where observation and intuition could give him an edge. He took a seat at one of the baccarat tables, where several other players were already gathered. The dealer gave him a polite nod as he settled in.
As the cards were dealt, Shirou activated his Structural Grasping magecraft, discreetly analyzing the cards as they were laid on the table. He wasn't cheating, not exactly—he wasn't altering the cards or influencing the game. But by using his magecraft, he could understand the structure of the cards, predicting the most likely outcomes based on the subtle imperfections in the deck.
It was a technique that allowed him to play the odds in his favor without outright manipulating the game. Still, he had to be careful. If he won too easily, it would raise suspicions.
The game began, and Shirou played conservatively at first, making small bets and watching the other players closely. Baccarat was a game where players bet on either the "player" or the "banker" hand, with the goal of predicting which hand would be closest to a total of nine. It was a game of probabilities, and while luck played a significant role, skilled players could tip the scales by reading patterns in the cards.
After a few rounds, Shirou's strategy began to pay off. His small, consistent wins started to accumulate, drawing the attention of some of the other players. One of them, a man in his forties with slicked-back hair and a sharp suit, gave Shirou an appraising look, clearly noting his success.
Shirou ignored the attention, focusing on the game. He kept his bets measured, never pushing too hard but always staying ahead. By the time the dealer announced the final hand, Shirou had a comfortable stack of chips in front of him.
"Impressive," one of the other players muttered as they rose from the table. Shirou gave a polite nod but said nothing, pocketing his winnings as he moved on to the next game.
Meanwhile, Millarca was making her way through the casino floor, her keen vampire senses on high alert. She had no interest in the games themselves—her focus was solely on finding Morte. As she weaved through the crowd, she caught snippets of conversation, the buzz of gossip and speculation swirling around her like smoke.
It didn't take long for her sharp hearing to pick up on a familiar voice.
At a blackjack table near the back of the room, Morte sat with a stack of chips in front of him, his cold, calculating expression giving nothing away as he played. Seated across from him was another man, older, with long white hair and piercing red eyes. The moment Millarca saw him, she felt a chill run down her spine.
It was Jester Karture. Another Vampire Lord that's known to be as strong as Van Fem. But, what's he doing in here? From what she knows, Jester Karture and Van Fem doesn't like each other that much.
She kept her distance, slipping into the shadows behind a nearby column as she listened to their conversation. At first, they spoke in vague terms, discussing business dealings and the usual underworld transactions. But then the conversation shifted, becoming darker and more sinister.
"…the assassination will proceed as planned," Jester said, his voice low and smooth. "Van Fem has grown too complacent. His time is up."
Morte smirked, his eyes gleaming with malice. "And you're confident the Sephiroth Graal will be enough to ressurect both Goliath and Goetia?"
Jester nodded. "Once the ritual is complete, they will be unstoppable. Van Fem won't stand a chance."
Millarca's breath caught in her throat. Goliath and Goetia. That name alone sent a wave of dread through her. Although she's not a Devil not a Demon, she knew enough about the Demon Gods to understand the kind of power they wielded. And if Morte and Jester were planning to bring them back using the power of the Sephiroth Graal, it meant that Elmenhilde is indeed connected to Morte and Jester too, now. And they had access to forces far beyond what even Van Fem could handle.
And this ritual that they're talking about can only mean one thing to her. And that they're likely going to extract Valerie's Sacred Gear out of her by force. If that happen...she can't imagine what will happen to Valerie.
She listened closely as Morte continued, his tone casual but laced with venom. "The only issue is the Goliath corpse. One of my supply depots was destroyed this morning—along with Goliath's remains."
Jester frowned slightly but didn't seem overly concerned. "Unfortunate, but not a critical loss. We still have Goetia, and that will be more than enough."
Millarca's mind raced. So, the corpse they had found earlier belonged to Goliath, one of the Demon Gods Morte and Jester had planned to resurrect. Thankfully, Shirou had destroyed it during their earlier raid, but the fact that they still had Goetia's body was deeply troubling.
Knowing she had learned enough, Millarca slipped away from the blackjack table and made her way back to the main casino floor. She had to find Shirou and tell him everything. This plot was bigger than they had anticipated, and the stakes had just become even higher.
After searching for a few minutes, she finally spotted Shirou at a baccarat table, where he appeared to be finishing up his game. His stack of chips had grown considerably, and it looked like he was preparing to move to another table.
Millarca wasted no time. She approached him quietly, leaning in to speak just loud enough for him to hear. "Shirou, I've found Morte."
Shirou glanced up, his expression sharpening immediately. "Where?"
"At a blackjack table with Jester Karture."
Shirou's eyes widened at the mention of Jester Karture, the vampire he had been hunting for months. His heart quickened, but he forced himself to stay composed. This was it—an unexpected opportunity to confront one of his five targets. But it was also risky. Morte and Jester plotting together meant that the situation was far more dangerous than he had anticipated. He couldn't just charge in without a plan.
"Jester's here?" he asked quietly, his voice steady despite the tension. "Are you sure it's him?"
Millarca nodded, her expression grim. "I'm certain. I overheard them. Morte called him 'Mr. Karture,' and they're talking about something big. They're planning to assassinate Van Fem using the power of the Sephiroth Graal to resurrect Goetia and Goliath. Fortunately, you already destroyed Goliath's corpse, but they still have Goetia."
The name Goetia sent a chill through Shirou. In his world, Goetia was a Beast of Humanity, an immensely powerful entity that required a Grand Servant to defeat. He didn't know if the Goetia in this world was the same being, but he wasn't willing to take any chances. The potential threat was too great.
"So, they're planning to use the Grail to bring back Goetia and kill Van Fem," Shirou muttered, piecing everything together. "We need to stop them before they can pull it off. But first, I need to get through the casino rounds. If I win, I'll have direct access to Van Fem, and we can warn him. And maybe we can take out Jester along the way."
Millarca nodded in agreement. "I'll keep an eye on Morte and Jester while you finish the tournament. If anything changes, I'll let you know."
Shirou glanced down at his stack of chips. He had already done well enough in the baccarat game, but he still needed to accumulate more to ensure he advanced to the next round. The tournament wouldn't be easy. The other players were formidable—many of them were supernatural beings with sharp instincts and abilities that could tip the odds in their favor.
He looked at Millarca. "Be careful. We don't know what Jester and Morte are capable of yet. If they catch wind of us, things could get ugly fast."
"I know," Millarca said with a faint smirk, her eyes glinting. "I'll be fine. You just focus on winning."
With that, Millarca melted back into the crowd, leaving Shirou to refocus on the tournament. He scanned the room, looking for his next opportunity. The baccarat game had gone well, but it was time to shift gears. He needed a game where he could control the pace better and rely on his magecraft to give him an edge.
His eyes landed on a blackjack table near the center of the room. Blackjack was more strategic than baccarat, and it required a blend of skill, intuition, and luck. Shirou's Structural Grasping would allow him to read the deck and anticipate the cards, but he couldn't be too obvious about it. Winning too quickly or too often would attract unwanted attention from both the casino and the other players.
As he approached the table, he noticed that the stakes here were higher than at the baccarat table. Several players already had sizeable stacks of chips in front of them, and the atmosphere was tense. This was a table where serious players gathered—those who didn't just rely on luck but had honed their skills over time.
Shirou took a seat, maintaining a calm, composed expression as he joined the game. The dealer, a woman with an elegant but professional demeanor, shuffled the cards with practiced ease, her movements precise and rhythmic.
The first hand was dealt, and Shirou studied the cards in front of him. He didn't use his magecraft right away, choosing to play conservatively at first, allowing the flow of the game to unfold naturally. His opponents, a mix of humans and supernatural beings, were sharp, but they couldn't hide their intentions completely. Through subtle tells and shifts in body language, Shirou could get a sense of their strategies.
As the hands progressed, Shirou began to weave his magecraft into his play, using Structural Grasping to analyze the deck between rounds. It allowed him to subtly predict which cards were likely to appear next, and while it didn't guarantee success, it gave him an edge that made his decisions more calculated.
The chips in front of him began to grow steadily, and Shirou remained careful not to overplay his hand. Every win was tempered by occasional losses, keeping his pattern of play unpredictable to avoid suspicion.
As the night wore on, Shirou found himself gradually pulling ahead of the other players at the table. His chip count was growing, and he was edging closer to securing his spot in the second round. But he wasn't alone. Several other players were also making gains, their skills formidable, and the competition was tightening.
Just as Shirou prepared for the next round, he felt a familiar presence at his side. Millarca returned, her expression urgent but controlled.
"Shirou," she whispered, leaning close enough that only he could hear. "I found out more. Jester and Morte are planning to use the Sephiroth Graal on Goetia tomorrow night. We have less time than we thought."
Shirou's brow furrowed. "Tomorrow?"
Millarca nodded. "They're getting desperate. Something spooked them, but I'm not sure what. They're speeding up their plan. We need to get to Van Fem tonight and warn him. If Goetia is revived—"
"I know," Shirou interrupted quietly. "If Goetia is anything like the one from what the legend said, we're in serious trouble. But we still have to play this carefully. We can't just rush in."
Millarca gave a reluctant nod. "You're right. I'll keep watch. Just finish this round quickly."
Shirou returned his focus to the game. The final hands were dealt, and the tension at the table mounted. Every player was on edge, knowing that the results of these last few hands could determine whether they moved on or were eliminated.
The cards came down, and Shirou's heartbeat slowed as he focused, analyzing the situation with cool precision. His opponents were skilled, but he had the advantage of insight—both from his magecraft and his instincts honed through countless battles.
In the end, his strategy paid off. Shirou's chip count surged, surpassing the threshold needed to advance to the second round of Fem's Casa.
As the final chips were counted, Shirou stood from the table, gathering his winnings. The other players shot him appraising glances, some respectful, others wary. He had drawn attention, but he had done what was necessary.
Millarca was waiting for him at the edge of the casino floor, her expression unreadable.
"You did it," she said as he approached, her voice low.
Shirou gave a brief nod, his mind already moving to the next step. "Yeah. Now let's go find Van Fem. We need to warn him before it's too late."
Millarca's eyes flashed with determination. "Agreed. But remember, Jester and Morte are still out there. We can't let them know we're onto them until we're ready to strike."
With that, the two of them slipped away from the bustling casino floor, their next objective clear. The night wasn't over yet, and the stakes had never been higher.
After securing his spot in the second round of the Fem's Casa tournament, Shirou and Millarca slipped away from the casino floor, moving swiftly through the crowd in search of Van Fem. The ship was massive, filled with countless corridors, lounges, and private rooms, each more extravagant than the last. But no matter how much they searched, Van Fem remained elusive. They asked several staff members, but none could give them a definitive answer. It was as if the elusive vampire had purposefully hidden himself away from the event he hosted.
Frustration gnawed at Shirou. Every minute they spent on the ship without making progress felt like precious time wasted. Millarca, too, seemed tense, her usual sharp wit dulled by the lack of information.
As the night wore on, and with the casino's first round finally drawing to a close, the two reluctantly agreed to return to the hotel. They would have to wait for the second round tomorrow night and hope that in the meantime, they could uncover more about Morte and his plans for Goetia.
Back at the hotel, the familiar sight of Kuroka lounging by the window greeted them as they entered their room. Her feline smile widened as she saw them, her amber eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Welcome back, Nya~." Kuroka purred, stretching her limbs lazily. "So, how was the fancy casino? Did you win big, Shirou-kun?"
Shirou's expression was grave as he strode forward, his tone serious. "Kuroka, do you know where Morte's main supply depot is?"
Kuroka blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. "Uh, yeah, I do. Why?"
Shirou exchanged a glance with Millarca before turning back to Kuroka. "We need you to take us there tomorrow at three in the morning. We have something important to take care of."
Kuroka sat up straight now, sensing the tension between them. "Something important? What exactly happened at Fem's Casa? You two look like you've just seen a ghost."
Millarca crossed her arms and sighed. "It's worse than that. We found out that Morte is planning to use the Sephiroth Graal to resurrect Goetia and Goliath—powerful beings that could potentially kill Van Fem. We destroyed Goliath's corpse already, but they still have Goetia. And that's not all—Jester Karture is involved."
Kuroka's eyes widened, her playful demeanor dropping. "Jester Karture? The Jester Karture? And you think Valerie is being held in Morte's depot?"
Shirou nodded. "Yes. And if Valerie's there, then Elmenhilde might be too. We're not taking any chances. That's why we need you to guide us to the depot."
Kuroka remained silent for a moment, her tail flicking nervously. "I see… That's heavy stuff." She seemed to think for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. I'll take you there. But if you're going up against Morte and his whole crew, I'm guessing this won't be a quiet operation."
"It won't," Shirou confirmed. "But we'll deal with it."
After discussing the details for tomorrow's raid, the tension in the room finally began to ease. They had a plan now, albeit a dangerous one. The only thing left to do was rest and prepare for what was to come.
Millarca, clearly exhausted, stretched her arms over her head before plopping down on the edge of Shirou's bed. "Well, now that that's settled, I'm going to sleep."
Shirou frowned, glancing at her. "Didn't you book a room for yourself earlier? You're supposed to be sleeping there."
Millarca gave him an innocent look, her red eyes gleaming playfully. "Oh, that room? That was for Kuroka. I'm not about to share a room with her."
Kuroka, who was reclining against the wall, snorted. "Excuse me?"
Shirou raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Then why didn't you just book another room for yourself?"
Millarca's expression turned slightly mischievous, and she clasped her hands together in mock sweetness. "Well… if you must know, I feel a little unsafe sleeping alone, what with Jester Karture, Morte, and Juste still out there and all. What if one of them decides to kill me in my sleep? I'd much rather be here where I know I'm safe."
Shirou narrowed his eyes. He could tell Millarca was exaggerating her fears, putting on that cute act to manipulate him. "You're not scared of either of them," he said flatly. "You're just trying to get out of sleeping in a different room."
Millarca pouted, adding a bit more dramatic flair to her tone. "Oh, come on, Shirou. Let me stay here, just for one more night. Pleeease?"
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "You're impossible, you know that?"
Millarca's eyes lit up as if she had won some sort of small victory. Shirou hesitated for a moment, contemplating the idea of pushing her out, but he knew she wasn't going to give up that easily. After a long pause, he finally relented with a heavy sigh.
"Fine. But only for one more night," he said, his voice filled with resignation.
Just as Millarca settled herself in, looking entirely too pleased with herself, Kuroka's voice cut in, teasing. "Hey, if Millarca gets to stay, what about me? I'll even keep you warm, Shirou-kun~."
Before she could follow up with more suggestive remarks, Millarca shot her a sharp glare and, without hesitation, marched over to Kuroka and quite literally kicked her out of the room. "You're sleeping in the room I booked for you, cat!"
Kuroka stumbled a bit, laughing in amusement. "Alright, alright! No need to get so violent, princess." She winked at Shirou as she slipped out of the room. "Goodnight, lover boy."
Shirou groaned as Kuroka disappeared into the hallway. Millarca, seemingly satisfied with her victory, returned to the bed with a triumphant smile. Shirou glanced at her, shaking his head.
"You're trouble," he muttered.
Millarca chuckled softly as she laid back, her voice teasing. "Oh, you love it. Now get some rest. We've got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow."
And with that, the room finally quieted, the weight of tomorrow's mission looming over them as they drifted off to sleep. Millarca once again claims the bed while Shirou sleeps on Sofa.
Interlude: Elmenhilde's Resolve
The dim light of the supply depot gave the room an eerie glow, casting long shadows across the cold steel walls. The air was thick with a foreboding tension, amplified by the presence of the three figures standing in front of the large glass container. Inside, the preserved corpse of Goetia lay motionless, suspended in a near-perfect state of preservation. It was a sight both terrifying and awe-inspiring. The sheer scale of the figure and the latent power that seemed to hum in the air around it reminded them all of what was at stake.
Elmenhilde Karnstein, standing beside Morte and Jester Karture, felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She had always known that their mission was dangerous, but seeing Goetia's lifeless body up close only made it feel more real—more immediate. Despite her composed expression, the looming presence of the demon god stirred something within her. She clasped her hands together, hiding the faint tremor in her fingers.
Morte, his dark eyes narrowing as he stared at Goetia, was the first to speak. His voice was cold, clinical. "It's a shame about Goliath. Losing the body was a setback, but it was unavoidable. That warehouse was destroyed before we could move the corpse."
Jester, standing with his hands tucked into his long coat, gave a light chuckle. His crimson eyes gleamed with amusement, as if the loss was nothing more than a minor inconvenience to him. "Setbacks are a part of the game, Morte. What matters is that we still have Goetia, and the real prize—Van Fem—remains within our grasp."
Elmenhilde, her gaze shifting from Goetia to the two men beside her, remained silent for a moment before finally voicing the concern that had been nagging at her. "The tournament's third round... that's when Van Fem will appear, yes?" Her voice was steady, but underneath, she felt the weight of what they were planning. "You intend to bring Goetia there and... kill him?"
Morte's lips curled into a sinister smile. "Precisely. When Van Fem finally reveals himself during the final round, we will make our move. Goetia will rise, and Van Fem won't stand a chance."
The weight of his words settled over them, the gravity of the plan heavy in the air. But despite the confidence in Morte's tone, there was one question Elmenhilde needed to ask. "And how exactly do you plan to resurrect Goetia? We need the Sephiroth Graal to do that, don't we? Only the original wielder of a Sacred Gear can use its power. So how will we—"
Before she could finish, Jester cut her off with a knowing smile, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Ah, that's where the ritual comes into play. We'll be extracting the Sephiroth Graal from Valerie Tepes tonight. The process will begin at two in the morning."
Elmenhilde felt a shiver run down her spine. She had heard rumors about the ritual, whispered accounts of the horrors that accompanied it, but hearing it confirmed so casually sent a wave of discomfort through her. "You mean... you're going to remove the Sacred Gear from her body?" she asked, her voice barely masking the unease creeping into her tone. "Will there be side effects?"
Jester's eyes sparkled, and his grin widened, showing the sharpness of his fangs. "Oh, indeed there will be. The process is... excruciating. The victim will feel pain unlike anything they've ever experienced, pain that will drive most people mad before they finally die. Extracting a Sacred Gear, especially a Longinus, is not a clean process. But we'll get what we need. And Valerie, well... she won't be needing her mind or body after that."
Elmenhilde's heart clenched at his words, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. Valerie Tepes, locked away in the dungeon of this very depot, was little more than a pawn in their grand scheme. Elmenhilde had to remind herself that Valerie's suffering was necessary for the greater good—the advancement of the Carmilla faction. But still, a small part of her couldn't help but pity the girl.
"It's a cruel way to go," Elmenhilde muttered under her breath, her gaze drifting toward the shadows at the edges of the room. "But if this is what must be done to secure the future of the Carmilla family... then so be it."
Jester chuckled, amused by her resolve. "Ah, always so dedicated to your cause, Elmenhilde. But make no mistake, the pain she'll endure will be... unimaginable. Even if you steel yourself, it'll be a sight you won't forget."
Elmenhilde remained silent, forcing herself not to dwell on the horror that awaited Valerie. She had to stay strong, stay focused. The Carmilla faction needed this victory. They had to rise above the Tepes faction, their eternal rivals. And this—this was the price of that power.
Morte, ever pragmatic, interrupted the quiet tension. "Enough of this sentimentality. We have a plan to follow. Tomorrow, we'll move Goetia once we have the Sephiroth Graal in our hands. And then, we end Van Fem."
With that, the conversation came to an end, the cold, detached silence lingering between them as they each contemplated the next steps. Elmenhilde's mind, however, was still racing. She excused herself, leaving the two men to continue their preparations as she made her way toward the lower levels of the depot—the dungeon where Valerie was being kept.
...
The corridor leading to the dungeon was dark and cold, the silence broken only by the faint sound of her footsteps echoing through the stone walls. As Elmenhilde approached the iron door that led to Valerie's cell, she felt a pang of hesitation. She had seen the girl only briefly since she was captured, and each time, she had steeled herself against the guilt that threatened to creep into her heart.
When she opened the door, the sight that greeted her was enough to momentarily steal her breath.
Valerie Tepes, the once-proud vampire princess, was huddled in the corner of the small, dimly lit cell. Her frail form trembled as she hugged her knees to her chest, her short blonde hair falling in tangled strands around her face. Tears streaked her pale cheeks, and her eyes—red, like all vampires—were swollen from crying.
Elmenhilde stood in the doorway, watching as Valerie slowly lifted her head to meet her gaze. For a moment, there was only silence, broken by the soft, broken sobs that escaped Valerie's lips. The sight stirred something deep within Elmenhilde, but she forced herself to remain composed.
"Elmenhilde..." Valerie's voice was weak, fragile, but laced with a quiet desperation. "Why... why are you doing this to me? I've never done anything to hurt you. Why are you so cruel?"
Elmenhilde's expression hardened, and she stepped further into the room, her heels clicking against the stone floor. "Your crime, Valerie, is being born into the Tepes family—the sworn enemies of the Carmilla faction. You, your bloodline, your tainted existence as a half-blood... everything about you is an insult to the purity of vampires."
Valerie's eyes widened, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she shook her head. "But I didn't choose to be born into this family! I didn't choose to be half-human! How can you blame me for something I had no control over?"
Elmenhilde's jaw clenched, but she didn't waver. "You were born with the Sephiroth Graal, one of the most powerful Longinus. That alone makes you a target. That alone means your life was never truly your own. Whether you understand that or not, it doesn't change the fact that we need your Sacred Gear. And to get it... you have to die."
Valerie's face crumpled at those words, and she let out a sob, her hands clutching the fabric of her dress as if it were the only thing keeping her together. "No... no, please, Elmenhilde. You can't... I don't want to die. I don't want this. Please, don't do this to me!"
Elmenhilde felt the crack in her resolve widen as she watched Valerie's desperate plea. But she couldn't back down now. Not when they were so close to securing their victory.
Without another word, Elmenhilde turned her back on Valerie and made her way toward the door. As she reached for the handle, Valerie's voice broke through the silence once more, louder and more frantic.
"Please, Elmenhilde! Please don't let them kill me! Please, I beg you!" Valerie's cries grew more hysterical, her voice trembling with pure terror. "Don't leave me here! Don't let them take my life!"
But Elmenhilde didn't turn back. She couldn't. The moment she allowed herself to feel compassion, to doubt her mission, everything they had worked for would unravel. So she forced herself to walk out of the cell, closing the heavy iron door behind her.
Valerie's sobs echoed through the cold stone walls long after Elmenhilde had left the corridor.
As she ascended the stairs back to the main level of the depot, Elmenhilde steeled her heart once more. This was necessary. This was for the sake of her Faction.
To be continued.
This is probably the longest chapter that I've written. And as you can see, things is about to get more chaotic. This is because the first arc is about to meet its conclusion in the next two or three chapters.
Now, regarding the Sacred Gear that I intended to give to Shirou. After reading your comments, I noticed that most you wants Shirou to wield the Innovate Clear, and you also bring quite a valid reasons why this Sacred Gear would be suitable for Shirou. And after doing my own research, I agreed that Innovate Clear is indeed would be suitable for Shirou. I admit this Sacred Gear will make Shirou significantly OP, but not in terms of raw power, but in versatility. Exactly like how I wanted to portray Miyuverse Shirou in this story. And in the next chapter, Shirou will finally activate his Sacred Gear for the first time ever.
Anyways, that's it for now. Please leave me some comments if there's some mistakes in my writing because like I said, English isn't actually my first language.
See you in the next chapter!