IBHJ 1098

The crimson battleship stopped moving, as if it couldn't understand what had just happened. Taking advantage of this moment, Shirou launched his attack. Sixty-four projected swords appeared in the air around him as he charged straight toward his target.

When those projected swords flew forward like a sheet of rain, the crimson battleship finally snapped out of its confusion. It raised its right hand quickly, and a red crystal began to glow. Terrible magical energy gathered, forming a barrier to block all sixty-four swords.

If it could stop these incoming swords, Vimana would have nowhere to go. The vessel would crash straight into the battleship's right shoulder - a perfect trap.

But...

How simple-minded!

Shirou's expression stayed calm as he suddenly closed his raised hand into a fist.

Break!

"Boom boom boom—"

All sixty-four swords exploded at once. The blast sent the crimson battleship reeling backward, waves of seawater rushing up around it. In that moment, Vimana found its opening, breaking free and soaring straight up into the sky.

"That was amazing!"

The soldiers burst into cheers.

But it wasn't over. Vimana, which had shot straight up, suddenly turned and dove back down. He aimed straight for the crimson battleship, as if ready to crash right into it.

Everyone watching held their breath. Just as Vimana neared the crimson battleship, he summoned one hundred and twenty-eight swords, launching them forward like arrows.

The crimson battleship quickly raised its right hand. The red crystal on its back glowed brightly, forming a powerful magical barrier that stopped all the projected swords.

Shirou suddenly closed his fist, making the swords explode. But this time the crimson battleship was ready - it stood firm against the powerful blast.

As the smoke cleared, the crimson battleship swept its right hand aside and swung the greatsword in its left hand.

Shirou was right in its reach; this strike would end everything!

Vimana hovered steadily before the crimson battleship, with Shirou seated on the throne. He raised his empty right hand toward the vessel, his posture suggesting complete control of the situation.

The battleship had just completed its sword strike, but something was wrong. Why was Shirou's hand empty?

"Sing for me, Rhongomyniad."

A spear materialized in his palm, brilliant light condensing into solid form. The beam it released pierced straight through the battleship's central reactor and continued toward the ocean.

"Checkmate."

The massive vessel listed to one side. Like a defeated opponent, it began its descent toward the waters below.

The impact sent water surging upward in massive walls.

From her position on the white tower, Guinevere watched in silence. She blinked several times, taking in what she had just witnessed.

The soldiers on the ships remained motionless alongside Guinevere, staring at the scene before them.

"Is he a Holy Apostle?" One soldier's voice trembled.

"He must be. This power... it can only be a Holy Apostle!"

Shirou paid no attention to their whispers. To him, it was just another Gundam - nothing remarkable. A fifty-meter frame? A giant? He'd faced these guys countless times before.

"I avoided attacking the vitals, so it should be moving any moment now." Shirou leaned on his throne, watching the fallen battleship on the water's surface.

True to his prediction, a red crystal detached from the center of the battleship's head, slipping away like a lifeboat toward its allies. The movement was so subtle, so well-timed - had Shirou not been present, the others would have missed it in their celebration.

He snapped his fingers. A sword materialized above and struck downward, piercing the red crystal before it could break free from the wreckage.

The crystal cracked and split apart. From within, a figure in black armor and a mask emerged, scrambling out of the debris. Without a backward glance, they made a dash toward the sea.

Swords rained down from the sky, the blades embedding themselves in the surface to block the figure's escape route.

Shirou descended from Vimana, landing gracefully in front of the would-be escapee.

"Who are you?"

The masked figure's body tensed, their stance betraying their wariness of Shirou's presence.

"I've destroyed many like you," Shirou said. "But those mechs were empty - no pilot, no crew. They'd vanish into nothing after being killed. Like alchemical constructs, but different. This battleship of yours, though..." He gestured to the wreckage. "It has a cockpit. And you."

He studied the masked figure. "Tell me who you are. And whom you're fighting for."

"Are you an Apostle of the Emperor?" The mask distorted their voice.

Shirou raised an eyebrow. "Apostle of the Emperor?"

As he considered the question, the masked figure's hand slowly moved toward their sword. They were almost subtle about it - but the moment their fingers touched the hilt, a blade shot through their arm.

The figure stumbled backward. Blood spilled down their sleeve and dripped onto the ground as they clutched their wounded arm.

"Save your tricks," Shirou said. "Surrender and come with me peacefully. I have no interest in bullying the weak."

"You think... I'm weak?"

"Yes." Shirou met their gaze through the mask. "I might not be the strongest out there, but you... you wouldn't stand a chance against me, even if you were a thousand times stronger than you are now."

"Such arrogance from an Apostle!" The figure reached over with their good hand and pulled the sword from their wounded arm. Blood gushed from the wound. "Let me see this strength for myself!" They raised their blade and charged toward him.

"You should have seen the difference in our strength," he shook his head. "I gave you a chance to walk away. Remember that when you wake up in chains."

Dozens of swords appeared in the air around him before shooting toward their target all at once.

The figure tried to defend with their longsword, but there were too many blades coming at them. Even a Heroic Spirit would struggle against this many swords - no warrior could block attacks from every direction unless they had Gate of Babylon or Unlimited Blade Works.

This opponent stood no chance. After blocking the first few blades, the rest pierced through their limbs, pinning them against the wall.

He walked up to the pinned figure. "Tell me who you are."

"Never. I'd rather die!" The figure's voice was defiant despite their position.

"I don't think so."

The figure met his gaze. His eyes burned bright like flames, but something in them made their blood run cold.

Many had forgotten, or maybe never known. Shirou had protected his people so well that they'd never seen this side of him.

He was a king. And while kings could show mercy, they could also be cruel when they needed to be. A king changed based on what each moment called for, being gentle or harsh as needed.

Because you couldn't become a true leader through words alone - it came through battle and sacrifice.

Yet Shirou was kind at heart. He only showed this darker side when he had no other choice.

He reached for the mask, his hand moving toward the figure's face to reveal their true identity.

A rush of cold air swept past Shirou's head, and every instinct in his body screamed of danger. He didn't hesitate—his body moved before his mind could process what was happening.

He projected a large sword behind his head just as a kick wrapped in icy wind connected with the blade. The impact shook through the air.

The sword shattered like brittle wood under the force. The power behind the kick slammed into Shirou like a speeding truck, launching him backward through the air. But he was no longer the novice fighter he'd once been - his body twisted with practiced skill, bones and muscles working together to turn the massive force downward instead of back.

His feet hit the ground with crushing force. The steel floor beneath him broke apart, leaving a deep crater. The size of the crater showed just how strong his attacker's kick had been.

The moment his feet touched ground, Shirou projected a sharp sword and slashed at his attacker. His movements were so quick, so smooth, that the pinned figure could only watch in amazement.

"Could he be that Holy Apostle? But I heard that Holy Apostle was a woman..." The masked figure barely noticed their wounds anymore, too stunned by what they were seeing.

Despite Shirou's speed, the attacker matched his pace. As his sword appeared, she twisted her body to avoid the blade, then took a half-step closer. Her right hand grabbed Shirou's wrist, fingers locking between the tendons, pulling him into a throw.

The martial arts move caught Shirou off guard, but he reacted instantly. As he fell, his shoulder nearly scraping the ground, just before his face would hit the ground, he pressed his free hand against the surface to support himself. He spun his body around, his leg sweeping out in a powerful kick. He followed through with his hips, putting his full body weight behind the strike.

But the attacker had seen it coming. She jumped into the air, tucking her legs up tight before extending them in perfect control, and something caught his attention - a red crystal gleaming in the sunlight.

That crystal...!

Shirou's eyes narrowed. Without thinking, he projected Excalibur and filled it with magical energy. The sacred sword burst into brilliant light.

The red crystal caught the sunlight, flashing bright. The attacker's fist tightened around it, her thumb flicking forward like pulling a trigger.

The crystal erupted into a massive wave of crimson light that surged toward him like an ocean of stars.

But Excalibur was ready, already charged with magical energy and transformed into pure light.

Shirou swung the holy sword against the setting sun. The blade's beam cut straight through the crimson wave, splitting it apart like cloth under a sharp knife. The two halves of the wave crashed past him on either side, dissolving into sparks.

When the light faded, he saw the attacker had already pulled the masked figure free from the wall. They were both retreating into the distance.

He raised an eyebrow. "Running away?"

Before he could pursue them, the remaining mechanical soldiers moved in perfect unison. They formed a wall around him, their gun barrels all turning to face his position.