IBHJ 1214

Standing on top of a steel ruin, Shirou looked out across the landscape. All he could see for miles was steel and concrete debris.

After the Empire attacked Avalon, Nerissa had tried to send Shirou and the others back to Tír na nÓg using a Great Transfer Array. But Agravain's airship had interfered with the transfer, causing a major malfunction.

When they finally regained consciousness, they found themselves in this strange place that looked like some kind of massive steel graveyard.

At least there was one bit of good news—now that Adam had broken through the Empire's barrier, Shirou could still connect to Gaia and contact Tír na nÓg.

He turned around to see Artoria digging through the steel ruins, searching for something. He couldn't help but sigh to himself.

Thanks to the Great Transfer Array accident, he and Artoria had landed here, completely separated from Scathach and Bedivere.

"Found it!" she cried out excitedly as she pulled a notebook from underneath an abandoned giant steel arm. She clutched it to her chest with obvious relief. "Thank goodness it didn't get lost."

He crouched down on a nearby boulder. "Is that notebook really that important?"

"Of course it is! This is my travel diary," she said, hugging the notebook tightly. "It's my most precious possession!"

"Well, your most precious possession doesn't cost much then," he chuckled. He projected a towel and tossed it to her. "Here, dry yourself off first. You don't want to catch a cold in a place like this."

Unlike him, she had fallen into a small river when they were transported here and was completely soaked. But as soon as she'd dragged herself to shore, she'd immediately started searching for that silly notebook of hers.

She caught the towel and looked at him, confused. "A fever? What's that?"

"It's inflammation." Seeing her blank expression, he explained, "Basically, it's when your body feels awful because something called illness is beating you up."

"Beaten by illness? You people from Pan-Human History are really fragile." She thumped her chest proudly. "We from the Empire have top-notch bodies. Illness isn't even a thing for us!"

"Is that so?" He stood up. "Then let's get moving."

She looked at him with confusion. "Do you actually know where we are? Just so we're clear, I've never been to or even heard of this steel world that looks like the Imperial Capital."

He raised an eyebrow. "The Imperial Capital looks like this too?"

"Yeah. I've never been there myself, but my sister... well, Morgan described it exactly this way."

After a moment, she asked with eager eyes, "So you know where we are, right?"

"I'm afraid I don't," he admitted with a shake of his head.

"Then why are you trying to lead the way?" she asked, giving him a look of pure disdain.

"...You really have quite the expressive face, don't you?" he sighed, rubbing his temple. "You're more suited to..."

"Never mind, forget it." He suddenly stopped himself, remembering that this person wasn't actually his Artoria. He shook his head and pointed southeast. "I don't know where we are, but I do know we need to go that way."

"Based on what?"

"Something's calling me."

"Maybe His Majesty?"

"It’s the planet."

She nodded in understanding and lowered her head sadly. "Right. His Majesty was already killed by my sister."

He stood silently, studying the woman before him.

Honestly, no one had seen this truth coming.

The Emperor had been gone for a long time.

Killed by another Emperor, and even by his own people.

But then who was that person sitting on the throne up in the sky, claiming to be Emperor?

And was there some connection to the Lord of Salvation?

Shirou shook his head, snapping back to reality, only to find Artoria scribbling frantically in her notebook and muttering to herself.

"What are you doing now?" he asked.

"I just thought of the perfect words to express my feelings right now. I need to write them down," she said without looking up, pen flying across the page.

He sighed. "I'm leaving now. I'm not waiting around for you."

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead. You walk in front and I'll follow behind. Don't worry, I won't get lost," she said without even looking up, still scribbling away. She kept muttering things like, "Shocking! The great Heavenly Emperor was actually murdered by her sister and others!" and "Shocking! My heart is filled with grief and pain as I learn this terrible truth!"

She seemed to start every other sentence in her diary with "Shocking!"

"You're ridiculous," he muttered, then reminded her, "Make sure you dry your hair. I'm serious about that fever."

"My body is in perfect condition! Not weak like yours!"

He just shook his head and ignored her, heading toward where the voice was calling him.

About three hours into their journey, they had to stop and make a fire to rest.

The reason?

Artoria had a fever.

"Huff... huff... this feels... awful. Water... I need water..." She was curled up on the grass, her body radiating heat, her face twisted in pain. Shirou wrung out a cool wet towel and gently placed it on her forehead.

Feeling the cool cloth on her forehead, her mind cleared a little. She opened her eyes, looking up at him with a tearful gaze. "Go ahead and say 'I told you so'... Damn! Is my body really this weak without eternity?"

"Just remember how fragile you are and take better care of yourself next time," he said calmly, helping her sit up. He picked up a bowl and handed it to her. "Here, drink some hot water. Just take small sips."

The bowl was something he'd projected, and he'd distilled and boiled the water himself right there.

She took a tiny sip and looked at him suspiciously. "Aren't you going to make fun of me?"

"Why would I make fun of someone who's sick? You don't even understand what illness is," he said, setting down the bowl and covering her with a cotton blanket. "Get some sleep and sweat it out—you'll feel better. Or you could try some spells, but judging by your situation, I'm guessing you don't know any healing spells. So just focus on staying clean and warm, or use whatever resistance spells you have to fight off the inflammation."

She nodded weakly, then suddenly tried to sit up.

"Would you please stay still?"

"But I haven't finished my notes for today..."

He shook his head, grabbed her notebook and pen, and sat down beside her. "Just lie down properly. You dictate, and I'll write it for you."

She stared at him with surprise.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Isn't this diary important to you?"

She looked at him, his face softly illuminated by the firelight, and said awkwardly, "Th-thank you... you're actually a good person."

"Don't mention it. I just feel bad seeing you abandoned by the Empire like some stray dog. And don't forget, you're still considered an imperial traitor that Agravain and Morgan want dead. I'm helping you now, but you'll definitely have to repay me later."

She took back what she had said—this guy was a complete demon, she thought, completely exasperated. Any warm feelings that had been growing in her heart instantly evaporated.

However...

This scene felt strangely familiar to her.

She remembered now.

A long, long time ago, Morgan was just like this.

She was the one lying sick in bed, and Morgan took care of her so attentively, thinking of everything.

But Morgan wasn't helping her write notes. Instead, to keep her calm during treatment, Morgan told her stories about her travels—how she'd journeyed across the world as a witch.

That's when she first dreamed of traveling herself.

She wanted to explore, to meet all kinds of people, to leave her footprints all over the world.

But sister...

The one she looked up to, the one she respected so much—why did Morgan destroy her dreams with her own hands?