IBHJ 1376

After that brief surge of adrenaline, Shirou didn’t feel tired anymore. He stayed in his seat, chatting idly with Tiamat as they cruised forward. Before long, the wormhole’s endpoint loomed into view.

A final ripple—then they emerged.

Silence greeted them.

They’d arrived in a dead star region—completely empty, not a single sun or planet in sight. But what caught Shirou’s eye wasn’t the absence of stars. It was the color.

The space around them shimmered in gradients of iridescent light, like an oil slick stretching across infinity. It wasn’t true light, not the kind visible in most systems. It was a distortion—waves of raw, unstable energy that painted everything in hues the human eye wasn’t meant to perceive.

According to theory, anything that wandered in here—magical beasts, divine spirits, even gods themselves—would be torn apart by the violent surges of cosmic radiation within seconds.

Shirou remained unharmed.

Thanks to [Evil].

After its evolution in Shinjuku—when it had absorbed Manaka Sajyou’s Vortex—the protective field had changed. It no longer simply shielded Shirou. It bent the rules around him. Even the radiation of this region couldn’t reach him.

“This kind of desolation is expected for a frontier,” he murmured, scanning the area. “But… where are the defense grids?”

No sign of interstellar barriers. No detection fields. No automated sentry formations.

Strange.

Either Origin Gaia didn’t bother securing this place… or Shirou’s Earth-born understanding of warfare didn’t apply at this scale.

He sighed and shook his head. No point dwelling on it.

“Tiamat,” he said, turning back to the display, “send a report to Alaya about what happened back in hyperspace. And ask for coordinates to the base.”

[Understood.]

Although that mass of darkness had taken over the wormhole, it hadn’t done so from the beginning. Long before that, Gaia had already deployed a fleet at the frontier—Shirou’s intended operational base.

They should’ve been close.

[M-Master…]

Tiamat’s voice trembled.

Shirou raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

He’d just started to relax, but her tone yanked a string of unease in his chest. After everything they’d just gone through, the last thing he needed was more bad news.

[Unable to establish contact with Alaya.]

“…What?”

[That thing from earlier… it warped the wormhole path. The distortion must’ve bent space-time enough that we slipped outside of Alaya’s signal range.]

“So you're telling me…” Shirou exhaled slowly. “There was a problem with our route. And now we’re off-course.”

[Y-yes. Based on current coordinates, we’ve… we’ve entered the star region associated with the Golden Universe.]

Silence.

Shirou stared at the console.

“…We’ve intruded into the Golden Universe.”

Of course.

Of course this would happen.

His mouth twitched hard enough to hurt.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Gilgamesh’s smug voice echoing: “See? I was right. You have a miraculous talent for turning the simplest task into a parade of disasters.”

Shirou forced his expression flat. “Tiamat,” he said as calmly as possible, “begin emergency retreat. Now.”

[I’m so sorry, Master… We don’t have enough fuel for hyperspace transmission.]

“…You’re joking.”

She wasn’t.

He slowly sank to the floor, placed one hand against the cold deck—and let out a low, tortured groan.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

“L-Luck E… Why now…”

A deep sigh escaped him, long and miserable.

“Damn it. My eternal nemesis…”

[M-Master… detecting hostile responses…]

Shirou leaned forward. “This sector’s a wasteland. If we just stumbled in, it should be a minor patrol unit. Tiamat, bring up the stellar radar map.”

[Deploying now.]

A tactical map shimmered into view—clean lines, faint gridwork, and a single glowing green dot in the center. Their position.

Then the rest came into focus.

Surrounding their position—red dots.

Countless red dots.

They pulsed like blood vessels converging, swarming around him like a living net.

Shirou blinked. “…Uh oh.”

[Enemy contacts… enemy numbers… unable to calculate.]

Tiamat’s voice glitched in panic.

“‘Unable to calculate’? What the hell are you even calculating?! Run!”

[Executing evasive protocol—]

Tiamat poured everything into acceleration, veering toward a narrow gap in the incoming wall of hostiles.

The ship jolted forward, streaking through hyperspace like a comet.

But it wasn’t fast enough.

Behind them, the red wave moved.

Golden vessels—sleek, sharp, and fast—broke through the blur of space, drawing closer with every second. Dozens at first. Then hundreds. All gleaming with the signature brilliance of the Golden Universe’s vessel.

Shirou turned toward the console. “Are you even trying?! Come on, Tiamat! You’re the pride of Origin Gaia—don’t make me ashamed to pilot you!”

[I-I’m doing my best, Master!]

Tiamat’s engine roared louder, pushing beyond its redline.

But the golden ships weren’t backing off.

They swarmed tighter, like wolves running down a wounded deer.

[It’s no good, Master. I can’t shake them off!]

“You don’t have to say it.”

Shirou drew out the golden bow. His hand moved over its polished surface with the kind of slow care reserved for old friends. His gaze drifted upward, toward the ceiling of the cockpit.

A long sigh escaped him.

He leaned back in the control throne.

“Tiamat. Initiate full neural sync. Transfer control authority to me.”

[Eh? B-but if even my calculations can’t evade them, Master’s mental bandwidth—]

“Stop with the nonsense. Give me control. All of it. That’s a direct order.”

[…Understood.]

From the walls of the cockpit, fine strands began to uncoil—transparent and pulsing like artificial nerves. They extended toward Shirou, weaving around his limbs, spine, and skull. The moment they touched, his mind dropped into the ship’s nervous system.

And in that instant—he was the ship.

Engines burned in his lungs. The targeting grid blinked behind his eyes. The vibrations of the hull echoed in his chest like a second heartbeat.

And instead of continuing the retreat—

He turned.

The starship spun mid-flight, flipping on its axis, nose pointed straight at the incoming fleet.

[M-Master?!]

Tiamat’s voice cracked with disbelief.

Even the enemy froze.

Across the expanse of space, golden ships began to slow. Their pilots—majestic giants of the Golden Universe—stared at the lone vessel that had dared to stop fleeing.

More than that—

It was facing them head-on.

It happened in nature sometimes.

A wounded animal, backed into a corner, would suddenly bare its fangs. But this wasn't instinct. And this wasn’t a pack of wolves.

It was one prey.

Against millions of hunters.

Under these circumstances, what kind of prey would turn to face the hunters?

“Has the pilot of that ship gone mad?”

Someone asked the question out loud. But no one answered.

Because the answer was obvious.

No—he hadn’t gone mad.

Shirou was completely calm.

The Arrow of Akasha was meant for absolute threats—a final strike, not for escape. His Emperor form was useless here. And Tiamat, for all her brilliance, couldn’t outfly the Golden Universe’s apex technology.

So how did you survive when every logical option had been stripped away?

There was only one answer left.

Face death to find life.

[N-No, Master! I don't want to be scrapped yet!]

Tiamat’s voice rose in sheer panic as the ship dove straight into the enemy formation.

Shirou didn’t hesitate.

He pushed the engines to maximum output, guiding the Tiamat starship straight into the heart of the enemy formation—toward the densest wall of golden vessels.

The Golden fleet responded instantly.

Hundreds of targeting systems locked on.

Then came the barrage.

Light beams—sharp, furious, and blinding—screamed toward him, turning space into a blizzard of annihilation. They moved like a living storm, threads of destruction lashing out in all directions.

It should have been the end.

But Shirou’s eyes burned with something.

Flames.

Resolve.

And in that moment—

[Savior of Mortal] activated.

A surge passed through him—not of spells or magecraft, but of will. Of record. Of humanity.

Countless records surged within him—footsteps of sailors, adventurers, navigators, and pilots from human history who had conquered uncharted seas, defied gods, and overcome fate. Shirou claimed all of them.

He became every man who had ever spat in the face of impossible odds.

“Don’t underestimate humanity.”