Rose Nourished with Blood

On the bed, struggling to suppress tremors, lay a lean man with a short chestnut beard, in which silver streaks of gray hair could already be seen upon closer inspection. One might think he was wracked by a fever, yet it was neither illness nor the frost outside that caused his shivers.

The gaze of his aged eyes was fixed on the darkest corner of the room, where shadows had thickened to the point that only a pair of glimmering eyes could be discerned, watching the old man impassively, as if he were just another sand dune in the path of a weary caravan. The Imam knew that this apathy was deceptive. Those eyes were watching him. He had to protect himself before their owner decided to start their bloody business. Inch by inch, the old man's hand slid over the cool cotton until his calloused fingers grasped the familiar ivory handle.

— I wouldn't advise you to draw your weapon, effendi, —the assassin quietly said. — I've been told you are a reasonable man, so I suggest we avoid such nonsense.

The Imam swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat, but did not remove his hand from the handle. For a moment, he even thought he wouldn't be able to relax his stiffened fingers.

How did he get here? What happened to the guards? They should have been protecting the approach to the house; they were trained, well-armed warriors being paid enough to resist bribery. And where were they? What about my children? And why, for the sake of Allah, is there such oppressive silence?! A million questions flashed through his mind, making his fingers tighten even more on the handle.

— Get up, effendi, — the assassin's voice seemed otherworldly, too low for it to belong to a human, especially considering the lack of emotion in it. If statues could speak, they would have spoken in this assassin's voice. — Since I'm here, you should have guessed that you are no longer in control of your fate. And nothing can change that now...

The Imam slowly sat up, desperately calculating possible courses of action.

— Listen... — he quietly addressed the figure.

— Negotiations on this matter are futile, — the assassin assured him.

— But...

— So are any pleas.

These words ignited a spark in him. The Imam felt the tremor instantly retreat, as confusion and fear were replaced by a flash of courage and pride.

— I had no intention of resorting to pleading, — the old man coldly spat.

— Then I apologize, —the figure slightly inclined his head, as if apologizing for his bold words, yet the assassin's voice remained as impassive as before.

—What happened to my people?

— You've already guessed who I am, Mullah Al-Kabun effendi... so you must realize that the fates of all these people depend on how our conversation ends. You can heed the voice of reason and show wisdom, or you can resist the inevitable, and I will leave this house only after I've killed everyone inside it.

- My daughters... —a painful thought flashed through his mind, and he didn't even notice how he whispered in horror.

—My girls...

— They have already reached the age suitable for serving Allah and His children.

— No... — the old man sharply countered, feeling his voice nearly crack. — Not to Him. They aren't even ten! Not to the hashishins!

— It's sad to realize that an educated man like you has such a narrow view of our righteous cause, — the assassin replied with barely noticeable amusement in his voice. — Do you really think that spilling blood is the only way to serve our Lord?

The Imam peered intently into the darkness, and his eyes, almost accustomed to it, allowed him to discern his visitor. Sprawled on a chair was a youth with Eastern features, silently twirling a short knife between his fingers. His black cloak, as dark as the night sky, concealed his figure, while the unprotected areas of his armor glinted slightly in the dim light of the brazier.

The killer's attire did not surprise the old Imam, but what caught his attention was the fact that the assassin showed him his human face, not hiding behind a skull mask.

— I would never have thought I could see one of you like this, —he said, examining the young man. — I must admit, it sometimes seemed to me that you had no faces at all.

— Tonight is a night of revelations for you...

— If so... may I know the name of my killer?

— Does it matter? You won't be able to tell anyone anyway, and... it's unlikely anyone will ever know I was here.

— Since you are so devoted to tradition, would you not honor the last wishes of a dying man? Or do the followers of the Old Man of the Mountain only know how to butcher defenseless people like common brigands?

The assassin did not reply immediately. The Imam even began to think that he had caught the killer off guard with such unexpected questions, but the gaze of those glimmering eyes did not falter.

— Rashid. You can call me that.

Hearing this, the Imam felt his lips curl into a smile. It seemed wild. Death awaited him, and his daughters were threatened with being taken and condemned to slavery under some false prophet, yet he was smiling with the grin of a madman.

— My life will be taken by one who walks the righteous path? Allah certainly has a peculiar sense of humor.

— Apparently, so it is. If you have anything to say, I promise your last words will reach the ears of Sayyidna.

— Oh Allah, how I hate that title, — the Imam contemptuously uttered, spitting on the floor. —Miserable fools... do you really believe you are doing righteous deeds by killing those who displease your Lord?

— Effendi Al-Kabun, —the assassin said with a dangerous steel in his voice, but the old man continued, disregarding the clear warning.

— How many innocent husbands have you destroyed? How many women are now widows, and how many children left orphaned because of your actions? And for what?! For some mad old man who recklessly decides others' fates as if he has the right to do so?

— What an interesting viewpoint you have, efendi. But I wonder... where does this perspective vanish when you kill other innocent husbands simply for understanding the word of God differently? – The steel disappeared from the killer's voice, replaced by barely perceptible irony. – Don't you pray to the same God? Don't you follow the same commandments? You speak of lives that we have taken. Of families that we have shattered. Yet how many families might exist now if we hadn't stopped the campaign of Vizier Nizam al-Mulk? If we hadn't brought the slave trader Jibril, who burned the villages of ordinary Muslims and then sold them like cattle to fund a war against us, to the judgment of the Almighty? Or do you mean to say that the suffering of so many is more pleasing to Allah than the demise of a few sinners?

— Clearly, that's not your decision to make…

— Let's skip that, efendi. Do you really expect me to believe that you received such a splendid house by the grace of the Almighty? – the assassin remarked scornfully, gesturing around the room. – Or your sermons at the Umayyad mosque, where you denounced our lord… what was it you said? "And his vile mouth... perpetually spews lies! We are surrounded by heresy, and its name is Hassan ibn Sabbah!" Have you ever considered how many lives your words, tossed around carelessly, have snuffed out miles away from here? So let's leave these religious debates aside, especially since neither you nor I possess enough moral authority to rebuke the other…

This example finally made clear to the imam the reason for this visit. He understood which of his "sins" he was to be punished for. Not that he expected to go unscathed for those words, but…

A quiet, nauseating laugh escaped his throat.

— Oh, you vile jackal, – he spat, forcing a painful smirk.

— We are all someone's servants. Sometimes we serve other people, sometimes things, and sometimes we are slaves to ourselves. The difference between us is that your life hangs by a thread right now. But you know… tonight doesn't have to end with someone's death.

With these words, the killer made an elusive motion with his hand, followed by the dull thud of a knife embedded in the wall. The imam felt a sharp flash of pain and instinctively covered his neck with his palm, feeling the blood seeping from the wound.

— My lord believes that your mistakes can be redeemed; after all, you cannot be considered a foolish man. He advises you to cease your absurd attempts to tarnish his name and confuse the minds of ordinary people, – the assassin said in that same calm tone. – Difficult times are ahead, and in moments like these, unity is more crucial than ever, including spiritual unity. Great changes are coming, and many will not be prepared for them... in their search for truth, they will reach out to those who, they think, have the answers, to those who provide a comforting sense of security and relieve them of responsibility and fear for their fate…

— Do you want to turn people into a thoughtless herd using my hands? – the imam growled fiercely, pulling his hand away from the fresh wound. – Do you think I am afraid of you? Do you think…

— But you truly fear us. Or in your pride, do you believe you differ in any way from them? – With barely a whisper of a rustle, the assassin was suddenly right in front of the imam, boring into him with the gaze of his scarlet eyes. – You consider yourself nobler than others, you believe you understand the word of God better, and thus have the right to speak in His name? And where has that led you? You sit here, with a knife to your throat, because you decided that just because people listen to you, you are free to interpret the will of Allah as you see fit?

— I did only what I believed was right… – the imam replied hoarsely. – All of this was for the betterment of the followers of Islam.

— Yes. All for the common good. So there's nothing wrong with a bag of gold if it helps people sleep more soundly at night? What's wrong with human suffering if none of those people are your neighbors or friends, who will never know the horrors of war? – the assassin said, slowly dragging the blade across the imam's neck. – I've always despised people like you… profiting from human ignorance, and in the end thinking yourself above others. But the truth is, you're all just a ball of arrogance and fear. Fear of oblivion. Fear of an unjust life and a capricious universe. Fear that in the end, nothing matters, that there is no grand or glorious scheme of existence. Fear that ultimately, your entire life was meaningless…

The imam wanted to object, but he found he could not emit even a whisper. He had never feared the killers serving the Old Man of the Mountain. All those tales about them being fearless, slipping into the shadows and sometimes selling their souls to hone their bloody skills to perfection — he considered them nothing more than superstitions. Until this moment.

Looking into the otherworldly eyes of the assassin, he felt that he was not facing a man but something entirely alien to such a trivial designation. And realizing this... the imam was truly afraid for the first time of his visitor.

— You finally understand. That's good… – the killer remarked with satisfaction. – As I said, my lord is willing to give you a second chance, to help lift the burden of guilt and free you from the shackles of fear… – He deliberately took the imam's hand, and the latter felt the familiar weight of a small bag filled with softly jingling contents. – Not everyone is granted such a chance, so be wise. If you do, then the weight of this bag will be the only burden you will have to carry for the rest of your days. I hope we've come to an understanding?

Al-Kabun could only weakly nod, fully aware of his helplessness in the presence of his visitor.

— Good. Now that you have accepted my lord's gift, you know what you must do, – the assassin said with a satisfied tone, moving to the window and opening the shutters, letting in the cold air. – I hope we never meet again… although you must make an effort for that to happen. And for the future… carry your burden wisely, so you don't stumble while walking.

In the next moment, another gust of wind blew out the flame in the brazier, plunging the room into utter darkness. The imam, on unsteady legs, approached the window to close the shutters, but the assassin had already vanished. Only the bloody cut on the imam's neck reminded him of this strange visit…

***

— To be honest, I'm pleasantly surprised. The lord entrusted you with such… unconventional tasks, yet you have still succeeded, – remarked his companion, sipping tea from his cup with a hint of admiration. – And not a single victim. For a man… of your reputation, that's quite remarkable in its own right.

— Just as surprising as your words, Nasiri, – Emiya scoffed, biting into a succulent piece of lamb still emitting a slight steam. – It's like you complimented me but also insulted me.

— As the Greeks liked to say, the truth lies somewhere in the middle, – he replied with a smile. – Don't take it the wrong way; it's just that, as far as I know, you mostly work with the cloak and dagger.

— I don't deny it. I couldn't believe that after everything I've been through, my new task would be something like this… I thought that with my promotion, the level of violence would only escalate…

— I agree. But what impresses me more is your rise: just a year has passed, and you've already reached the rank of rafiq. It takes most of us many years before we earn such recognition… if, of course, we live to see that day.

— I think we both agree that I can hardly be categorized under the term "majority," – Shirou noted with a smile, wiping grease from his lips.

— That's for sure! – Nasiri laughed, finishing the last of his tea.

The conversation between the two brothers flowed smoothly at the local teahouse. Two days had passed since Emia's nocturnal visit to the imam. Throughout that time, the assassin had been hiding in Nasiri's house, awaiting news from Al-Kabun's residence, and was pleasantly surprised that no radical reaction had followed. Perhaps the imam had heeded the voice of reason after all, or maybe he was simply too frightened. In any case, only time would reveal how effective his visit had been.

— Still… it's rather strange that the master entrusted this task to me in particular, – Shirou mused as he settled onto one of the cushions. – If I didn't know him, I would say it's quite irrational to send someone like me just to bring an imam to his senses.

— Despite all his flaws, Al-Kabun possesses quite good oratory skills. People truly listen to him, and even the local emir respects his opinion on complex issues. To waste someone like him in light of what's coming... would be even more irrational.

— The Latin army to the west, right? – Emiya asked knowingly.

— Yes. For several months now, rumors have been circulating that the Pope has called on Christians to march to Palestine. The Emperor Comnenus has also asked for their help in the war against the Seljuks, — Nasiri replied without a smile, thoughtfully stroking his beard. — I am more than certain they have enough power to create real chaos here: the Seljuks are divided, the Fatimids are pressing them, and the common people are uncertain about what will happen to them tomorrow, which means…

— That this is the perfect moment to bring them into the fold of our brotherhood, I understand, — Emiya said wearily, waving his hand dismissively. — Still, that does not answer the question of why it has to be me.

— Who knows, — Nasiri shrugged. — I'm not the one to judge the motives and decisions of the lord. I can only assume that he sees something more in you than just a simple master striking down his enemies with cold steel. Or perhaps he's trying to teach you a lesson…

— Oh? And what would that be?

— That sometimes, an outstretched hand can achieve much more than a clenched fist, — his companion stated earnestly. — Speaking of fists… I've heard rumors that you've run into some trouble in Cilicia?

— Ah, that. I came across a bunch of misfits who think far too highly of themselves, — Shirou sneered disdainfully, not bothering to clarify how these rumors reached his colleague. — They're more of an annoyance than real trouble.

— I wouldn't be so confident. As far as I know, they belonged to the Order of the Jagged Sun, which worshiped the god Mithras, whose cult took root here when the Romans were still in power… — Nasiri said with all seriousness. — I've heard much about them, and believe me, very little of it was flattering.

— As I said, just a gathering of miscreants spreading fear through tales and legends.

— Maybe so. However, I've also heard that witches were involved in that affair. Is that true?

At this, Emiya involuntarily flinched, as if recalling something rather unpleasant, and his hand instinctively reached for the scar on his left side. This moment lasted only a split second before he regained his previous composure.

— I don't know what you've heard, but I advise you not to believe everything that is said, — Shirou replied coolly, making it clear that he did not wish to pursue the topic.

— As you say, my friend, — Nasiri responded, equally indicating that he trusted his sources but chose not to elaborate further. — Speaking of what I've heard: a raven flew in this morning directly from the lord.

— I hope it didn't say that he changed his mind and that the severed head of the imam would be of more use than his sweet words?

— Ha-ha, that would be amusing, but no. At least, it wasn't mentioned in the message, — Nasiri smirked, assessing Shirou's sarcasm. — It stated that you must return to Alamut immediately. The lord demands your presence.

— Demands? — Shirou asked, surprised. — It literally says that?

— Not literally, but the essence was quite uncompromising on that matter. So I advise you to rest well — the journey ahead will not be easy.

— What could have happened that the mentor demands my return? — Emiya muttered thoughtfully, sensing something amiss.

— Nothing was said about that, but the matter clearly requires promptness, — Nasiri replied tensely, then suddenly transformed and winked conspiratorially at Emia. — As long as you're still here, let's order something else, shall we? Mmm?

***

Once again on the road, once again villages and towns passed by in succession, and he raced toward Alamut like a swift shadow. It had become so familiar that Shirou could afford to let his mind wander, reflecting on the time he had spent here. And it must be said… it hadn't impressed him much.

A year and a half had passed since his arrival in this world, yet he had not achieved any significant success. On the contrary, the number of near-fatal situations he found himself in was approaching troubling levels. Even setting aside the constant skirmishes with mercenaries and various cultists, along with the brutal training sessions from Sabbah… just in these few months, he had almost ended up in the grim embrace of death three times. First, Hassan had obliterated him, then he had barely escaped from that demon in Tikrit, and finally, the last major trouble was that scuffle in Cilicia, memories of which were carefully preserved by the numerous wounds on his back and left side. Throughout his career as an assassin of mages, he had never walked so close to the edge as he did now. Perhaps the only comparable experience was that crazy night in China…

Despite all this, the payoff from this journey had been… rather contradictory. Of course, his skills with blades, as well as his overall training as a professional killer, had improved; there was no doubt about that, not to mention the recent evolution of his Mystic Eyes. But… essentially, that was where his list of achievements ended. His progress in mastering magic was painfully slow, not only because he hardly had time to practice, but because he had no idea which direction he should be developing in. Zeltretch had been of no help in this regard (though Shiro had not expected clear guidance from that original vampire). He had given only general information about his elements, explaining what the Sector of Imaginary Numbers represented and touched on the entropic energy of that dimension. According to the vampire, it was quite rare for a mage to have a connection to the element of Void, but if that was how he intended to encourage Emia and help him feel better… then his attempt had just spectacularly fallen flat.

Thinking about the Reality Marble was even less an option, and Kaleid himself admitted that no one could help him in this regard. This type of magic stood virtually a half-step away from Magic, and even the Dead Apostles spent centuries trying to form a distant semblance of it. The fact that Shiro had the beginnings of such a mystery could already be considered a miracle.

— Ah, the chosen one… Luke Skywalker in the flesh, — the assassin muttered irritably, feeling a sharp frustration within. — And the saddest part is that I have no idea how to get out of here. Not only am I no closer to my goal, but I also found myself in a completely different dimension!

The thought that he was wasting time here when he should be dedicating himself entirely to fulfilling the promise he made to Kiritsugu infuriated him, and the constant nightmares only plunged him deeper into despair. Emia tried with all his might to push this idea away, but with each passing day, it became increasingly difficult.

- As if just thinking about it… — his internal monologue was abruptly interrupted as a sudden gust of wind brought with it the stench of burning and something else. It was something horrifically repulsive yet strangely familiar. — Did someone neglect a fire? No, the smell of burning is too strong for a small campfire, and this stench… could it be… charred human flesh?..

Leaving his horse, Shirou turned his gaze toward where the wind had carried that abominable smell, trying to catch signs of a fire in the form of smoke or flames in the distance. His instincts told him that something very nasty was happening nearby and that he should get away from there, but fleeing without understanding the circumstances was not his style. Tying his horse to one of the few trees that had come across his path, he took a deep breath and stealthily set off to find the source of the fire.

His mind effortlessly conjured a dozen scenarios that he could now discover: from funeral pyres of a village ravaged by plague to a plain robbery, which had been happening all too commonly of late, especially with the lack of strong central authority contributing to the rise of crime. He had seen both more than once, stumbling upon deserted settlements or cutting down bands of miscreants. Of course, in the territory under Hassan's command, bandits preferred not to show up, but the other villages and towns in this regard were far less fortunate.

As he moved forward, the smell grew increasingly distinct, and ahead of him, a glow was visible. Shirou's right hand instinctively tightened around Kanshou, ready for the bloody harvest, but as he found himself in front of the burning village, all his initial assumptions scattered like dust.

Of course, he hadn't been entirely off in his guesses… rather, a couple of critical details had twisted those assumptions beyond recognition.

The village greeted him with vibrant flashes of orange flames, brighter than even the clearest midday sun. However, those illuminated by that flame were not something any mortal would wish to see. Instead of moaning people or a handful of bandits feasting on the ruins, the area was filled with the undead in various forms and stages of decay: from charred corpses barely dragging their feet to vampiric creatures looking remarkably like ordinary humans. Curiously, they were… fighting amongst themselves. Even from afar, Shiro could hear the dull sounds of blows sinking into rotting flesh, the clattering of metal, and the crashing of crumbling structures.

This was an extremely unusual sight, but Emia quickly found an explanation for this phenomenon. Contrary to popular belief, the Dead Apostles were by no means a homogeneous faction; their unification was quite conditional, more imposed by the Church than by harsh reality. Conflicts between them arose even more frequently than those with the Church itself, as they were constantly vying for power, resources, and the chance to wash their grievances.

His fingers clenched tightly on the hilt of the blade, bringing back half-forgotten memories. The last time Emiya met these creatures was back in his home world, and now he again appeared before a pack of maddened ghouls, as if several years had not passed since that moment. His lips slowly curved into a smile that foreshadowed a bloodbath.

He had work waiting for him, and it would be rude to keep these creatures waiting...

***

As if sensing the presence of an uninvited guest, the crowd of cadavers turned their rotting heads towards him at once. The vile crunch of bones and the slap of flesh on the ground only confirmed the guess that they, forgetting about each other, were ready to fall on him with their entire lifeless wave. They had no idea that their unlife was about to end at his hands.

Despite the obvious threat, Emiya did not move. Over the past year, his approach to the bloody harvest, as well as his style of war, have undergone changes. Study, analysis, threat assessment... and only after that action. Because of this, he might seem passive from the outside, but in the case of mindless undead, it was an excellent bait.

His fingers gripped Kanshou handle tightly. A deep sigh was heard, and then Emiya's eyes flashed with an otherworldly light...

The ghouls coming at him did not even immediately realize when he began to move. It was so subtle that when the remnants of their brain realized that the victim was no longer static, he had already struck a second or third blow, reducing his enemy to nothing.

Blow after blow followed, the lines of death were mercilessly cut, causing the undead to crumble into ashes one after another. This was, perhaps, the main reason why Shirou valued his gift so much - there was no salvation or protection from it. Of course, the question remained of whether he would reach the target and be able to strike, but... if he had the skills to bypass these obstacles, the enemy did not have a chance. In the former world, this had helped him out more than once, because firearms, with all their power, were useful only against the lower undead, and even then more as a stopping agent than as a killing agent. Emiya witnessed many times how the cadaver, in whose head he had dropped the entire pistol magazine, stood up and, staggering, walked on...

Now everything was different. With the help of Mystic Eyes, he could kill anything and anyone, and he didn't even need any special weapon to do it. It was enough to cut the lines of death, even with a deadly blade, even with a penknife, the effect remained the same.

Taking advantage of this, Emiya continued to rush forward, spinning in an unstoppable dance of death that, for all its horror, fascinated. Shiro smoothly slid along a precisely calibrated route, tearing off his hands with an elusive movement, bleeding his enemies and turning them into ashes, and they, as if not noticing this, only intensified their onslaught.

However, Shirou didn't care. He calmly continued his dance, with one hand chopping, cutting and piercing, and with the other, carving runes on the rotting bodies, causing them to flare up like firebrands, turning the next ghoul and the undead surrounding him into dust.

It seemed that this dance would be endless, but Emiya knew from experience that such an action would definitely attract bigger fish, namely, the culprit of this celebration of death and decay. And his intuition did not fail him again...

Feeling a familiar itch in the back of his head, he activated his circuits, sending a stream of mana into the magic crest on his shoulder. Time instantly slowed down, allowing Emiya to quickly turn around and deflect the piercing attack of the sword with the blade of Kanshou. The attacker clearly did not expect such agility, because with the next movement the assassin turned his body and, tearing Bakuya out of the void, cut off the attacker's hand with a powerful blow.

The bloodsucker's heart-rending scream became real music to his ears, but he couldn't enjoy it for long. Not limiting himself to just one hand, Shirou closed the distance with the vampire who was trying to retreat and with lightning-fast movements cut him in three, separating his head and half of his body from each other...

The vampire collapsed, staring blankly at his executioner. The recent scream was replaced by a quiet gurgle from the blood filling his throat. He never had time to fully comprehend what had happened, because the next second Kansho's blade cut his skull in two, after which his body crumbled into dust, like dozens of ghouls before him.

However, this creature was already different from ordinary undead...

Nocturne, the lowest stage of true vampirization. It was with them, in fact, that the formation of a full-fledged vampire as such began. They already had intelligence and retained skills and experience from their past life, which sometimes helped them a lot. Of course, they did not carry their past skills into their new life without changes, but their vampire nature helped to partially offset this drawback. However, even so they were not a serious threat, because even a trained and savvy hunter could quite deal with even a couple of these...

True... the problem now was different.

Although they could already be considered vampires, as ordinary people were used to thinking of them, they still remained a lower level, incapable of producing "offspring." In other words, even if they wanted to, they could not turn the inhabitants of this village into ghouls... which means...

- There's someone cooler here than this riffraff… - Shirou thought with hostility, glancing at the crumbling corpse, - And judging by the fact that the ghouls are also fighting among themselves, most likely several dead apostles, even of low rank, have collided here, but this could become a serious problem...

Emiya did not doubt his abilities at all, but he also sensibly assessed his chances in a clash with several high-level bloodsuckers, because this was not the same as slaughtering a crowd of mindless ghouls. And the recent battles, in which he almost ended up in the next world, had a very sobering effect.

- You... - someone's whistling voice brought him out of his thoughts. - Did you kill Dagonet? So, it didn't seem to me...

- Do you think he's a henchman of this... impostor? – another voice, rougher and lower, asked with hostility.

- Human. Man... - said a third voice from somewhere behind.

A moment later, Emiya saw a trio, who were also nocturnes, slowly come out from behind the burning buildings. Their movements were somewhat constrained, but Shirou knew very well how deceptive this appearance was. In the hands of one of them one could see a two-handed sword, the second, two meters tall, was holding a hefty hammer in his hands, and the third was something similar to a mace.

- He doesn't look like the impostor's servants...

- I would love to gut him...

- Me too…

- But the eldest would clearly like to deal with him personally...

- Is there nothing for us again? As always…

- It's extremely unkind of him to take all the fun for himself...

-Then I propose to kill him slowly...

- Do you have enough patience for this?

- I want his tongue and lungs...

- They are yours.

- Charming. My body has not yet had time to cool down, and you have already decided to share me... - Shirou snorted, raising his blades and preparing to attack.

- He thinks he will defeat us...

- Stupid sack of meat...

- There are three of us, and he is alone...

- Three for one? – Shirou grinned, after which, with an elusive movement, he took off from his place, rushing towards the one who stood closest to the others. – I like this arrangement!

***

At the same time, on the other side of the burning village, a battle of a completely different nature was in full swing.

A tall man with gray hair furiously struck with a thin blade, trying to hit the young girl, who, clutching a wound on her side, was barely dodging all his attacks. Here and there, fresh wounds of varying degrees of severity were visible on her body, from small cuts to very significant puncture wounds on her chest and arms, which, however, did not bother her at all, although the expression of pain on her beautiful face gave reason to doubt it.

- I see that Ortenross has completely lost his mind if he thinks that a flea like you can kill me, - she remarked caustically, dodging another blow.

- You can spit poison as much as you like, harlot, - the vampire answered indifferently, cutting the air with a rapier. - Even if I fail, others will finish what I started. If not today, then tomorrow you will die, and the Lord of the White Wing will rejoice...

- It's more likely to join you in the afterlife, worm, - the girl muttered, interrupting him, after which her body lit up with a black-purple hue, causing the vampire to lose his composure. – Every nonentity will tremble before my power! On my ridge I will bring punishment to all the unworthy, may my body be stronger than the mountains, and may my essence be filled with the rage of the crimson king...

- Do you think such tricks will save your li... - he didn't have time to finish his insult, because as soon as he approached her within striking distance, his whole nature literally screamed about danger, which is why he sharply braked and tried to jump back...

...but it was already too late...

Quicker than he could react, he felt his left arm cut at the collarbone and forearm, and his stomach and chest were literally torn apart. If he had not covered himself with the rapier blade, his head would probably have been blown off. And it only took one blow for her...

- Tell me, worm, were you not at all bothered by the fact that I didn't even try to heal any of my wounds, although for me this is a couple of trifles? – the girl asked him mockingly, covering her mouth with a palm with bloody claws. - I, of course, suspected that he had narrow-minded henchmen, but so...

- Shut up... - her opponent hissed, growing his arm again and picking up his rapier from the ground. - Do you think you could scratch me a little and I'll run away with my tail between my legs? Don't be fooled, we've just begun!

- As you wish, worm... - she was about to throw another barb at him, but then her expression on her face became more serious, and the girl turned her gaze to the other end of the village. - Looks like we have an uninvited guest.

The vampire only snorted mockingly, but the next second his face twitched and acquired a similar tense expression, mixed with a feeling of outright irritation.

***

The wide blade of the sword cut the air above Shirou's head, intending to decapitate him on the spot, but he managed to duck under the trajectory of the attack in time, after which he raised his hands with the blades clutched in them, intending to cut the vampire to pieces on the spot. However, the vampire was able to surprise him by twisting his arms with some unknown movement and covering his body with the blade of his sword, causing Emiya's blades to clash with him. The assassin directed prana into his hands, increasing the pressure and trying to literally push through the bloodsucker's defenses, but he again impressed, not even moving under the influence of such force. This situation caused the killer slight bewilderment for a second, but literally a second later he realized his mistake.

— Time Alter: Double Accelerate!

Stopping the senseless onslaught, he directed prana into his legs, sliding back with lightning speed. He did it just in time, because literally a moment later, another vampire's war hammer fell on the place where he had just stood.

It could hardly even be called a blow: its consequences were such that they were more like a grenade explosion. A cloud of dust appeared in the air, and the assassin involuntarily had to cover his face from the scraps of earth that scattered like shrapnel. Taking advantage of Shiro's momentary confusion, the third vampire came from the side and struck a diagonal blow with his mace, but the killer's dexterity again failed. Smoothly dodging, he sent a new pulse of prana into his leg and hit the mace handle with force, not giving the bloodsucker a chance to raise it for a new attack.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the dangerous glare of a two-handed weapon that intended to cut him in half, but Emiya only grinned, foreseeing such an outcome. Jumping up with all his might, he avoided the attack, after which he dodged in the air and, landing, found himself right behind the swordsman.

— Time Alter: Double Accel!

The vampire realized his mistake too late, but the inertia from the last blow did not allow him to react in time to the counterattack. The last thing he felt was unimaginable pain, burning him like a red-hot iron while the assassin's blades cut invisible lines on him, turning the formidable warrior into a heap of dust.

But it was too early to relax, because literally out of nowhere, the carcass of a big man with a hammer appeared in front of Shirou, who began swinging it so that the air literally hummed from the cutting force and speed of the blows. Emiya even tried to block one of these blows, but their power was such that Kanshou almost flew out of his hand, and the limb itself was pierced by an unbearable flash of agony. The assassin clenched his teeth painfully, after which he pretended to be trying to block the next blow, but the vampire did not fall for such an obvious trap, specifically targeting his good arm. What he didn't expect was that at the last moment Shirou would move his healthy arm to the side, and cut his rib with his other, painful limb.

The action, as unexpected as it was sharp, caused the big man to lose his balance for a second, which Emiya took advantage of, hitting him with all his might on the shin, which caused a sickening crunch of the bone. The bloodsucker finally fell forward, which allowed the assassin to drive the blade into his neck to the hilt, after which he gathered all the strength in his hand and sharply turned the blade in an arc, cutting the cervical vertebrae and cutting off the vampire's head.

The headless bloodsucker fell to the ground like a sack of cement, splattering thick black blood everywhere. Shiro pierced his head with Bakuya's blade, splitting his skull in two like a coconut, and then casually kicked the remains away from him.

- So... now all that's left is...

He did not have time to finish the sentence, because the next moment a pile of dead flesh fell on him, which tenaciously closed its hands around his throat, beginning to choke him. Emiya tried to push him away or strike him, but his current position did not allow him to take off the ghoul's head or even cut off one of his arms. He was literally pressed into the ground, and from the pressure on his neck he began to feel as if his vertebrae would be broken rather than suffocate. From the lack of oxygen, his eyes were already starting to get dark, and circles were swimming in front of them. This was a sign that if he couldn't think of anything, then this time death would definitely not let him out of its tenacious hands...

The decision, as often happens, came to him unexpectedly, albeit at the right time. Releasing one of the blades from his hands, he folded his fingers into a complex sign, after which he drew the Ansuz rune in the air...

The result was not long in coming - a powerful stream of flame gushed from his fingers, engulfing the vampire's head.

Emiya didn't know if these creatures could even feel pain, but judging by how heart-rendingly howling the vampire strangling him... this degenerate definitely did. Contrary to expectations, he did not remove his hands from his throat, but the grip of the cold fingers definitely weakened, allowing Shiro to bring his hand closer to the vampire's face, increasing the power of the flames.

The air, already smoky and smelling of death, was filled with the fresh aroma of burning meat. With each passing moment, the grip on the assassin's throat began to weaken, allowing him to gulp in hot air. The vampire clearly realized that if he didn't retreat, his head would simply turn into a shapeless mess, so he abruptly removed one of his hands from Emiya's head, grabbing the assassin's fire-emitting hand and moving it to the side, in the hope of, if not breaking, then at least moving it away from him flame stream

This momentary weakness became a fatal mistake for him. The cold hand finally came within reach and Shirou, without wasting a second, demolished it with one lightning strike, after which he began to stab Kanshou's blade into all available places, causing as much damage to the undead as possible. And the vampire, unable to withstand the onslaught and blinded by Emiya's fiery attack, staggered back, which allowed the assassin to knock him off with a kick.

Rising from the ground with a jerk and gasping for air, Shiro waited until his vision cleared enough to deliver the finishing blow. Luckily, he had plenty of time, because although the vampire's arm and torso began to slowly regenerate, his head was recovering much more slowly. After all, it was not for nothing that fire was considered an excellent weapon against the undead.

Allowing himself a short break, Emiya tightly grasped the blades in his hands and rushed towards the vampire, making a long tackle, in the process of which he left the bloodsucker without a leg. After which, having slowed down and found himself behind the swinging monster, he dealt him a powerful blow, dividing his already crippled head in two. After this, he could no longer rise, and his body turned to dust.

Breathing hoarsely and still regaining his breath, the assassin slowly approached and picked up Bakuya from the ground, shaking off the black, liquefied blood from her. The entire smug trio turned to dust, which meant he could afford a small triumph.

- For a spontaneous decision... the plan turned out to be excellent... - Shirou said quietly, praising himself for using runes in such an unusual situation.

True, the triumph was overshadowed by the sudden thought of the number of his opponents. Only now did the assassin notice that all the other vampire husk had disappeared somewhere, not interfering in any way with their battle. Of course, there were hardly many ghouls in the village, and he himself generously sprinkled the ground with their blood, but... Emiya strongly doubted that he had destroyed them all. Or did his already dead opponents decide to recall them so that they would not get in the way? Not to say that he was very annoyed by this, but... something didn't add up...

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp bang, literally tearing him out of his daze. It wasn't that loud, but the sound was so unexpected that Shirou almost jumped on the spot. Turning sharply towards its source, the assassin was surprised to find a young girl, who looked to be about fifteen years old, on a pile of stone rubble. She was clearly a non-local, and this could be seen not only by her European appearance, but also by her Gothic dress, which was atypical for these places, which was torn in many places. The most interesting detail was the severed head of a man that rested on her lap and looked at him with a dull, shocked look.

- Well, well, bravo! – the source of the clap, as it turned out, was her applause. And from her facial expression it was impossible to tell whether this praise was sincere or sarcastic. - I admit, when I sensed your appearance, at first I thought that Ortenross had really sent someone else here, but... - her expression changed, and her smile went from unreadable to creepy and repulsive, - I couldn't even think that it would be one of you...

- Appearances can be deceiving, I think you know this... - Shirou retorted with a slight grin, although deep down he understood that this girl was much more dangerous than the trio he killed combined.

- And what did one of the disciples of the Underworld Wanderer forget here? I don't remember what could somehow cause his displeasure... - as if not noticing his irony, she asked, tilting her head to the side.

- Would you believe it if I said I was just passing by?

- Hmm... you say you were just passing by? And at the same time decided to chop up all the ghouls and Ortenross's trio? And all this, of course, happened by chance, and they themselves fell on your blades? – she clarified with undisguised irony, after which her voice instantly turned cold. - Boy... do you, as I see it, consider me a naive fool?

- Because of you, the people who lived in this village died, or turned into this abomination, and there is no need to pretend that you are a victim here and can lecture me, - he said disgustedly at her. - I saw how the ghouls fought among themselves, so it's easy to understand that the inhabitants were converted by both sides, because you hardly carry this mindless herd with you. So yes, I had reasons to destroy them all. Maybe... I couldn't help them with anything else, but... I have an alternative, because I can at least take revenge for them...

- Revenge? Righteous retribution? – the girl laughed loudly, as if she had heard a funny joke, but a moment later her mood changed again, and her face darkened so much that Shiro felt fear, similar to the one he felt looking into Hassan's eyes. - You people and this justice of yours...how you make me sick. As soon as I start talking to you, you immediately start talking about those who died at our hands, about the dead brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers... this irritates me. If you are still alive, then what else do you need? Just move on with your life! But no, you need to somehow release the anger and find a scapegoat for it. And you know what amuses me most about this? You are never angry at something that you cannot comprehend: earthquakes, storms, volcanic eruptions - no matter how many lives they take! You complain about the gods, but nothing more. So why do you become different in relation to us? By avenging their death, you will not bring them back to life, you will not fill your life with meaning, so why risk your life for those who will no longer appreciate it?

- And let you continue to eat us like cattle, killing whoever you want, and remain unpunished? – from such sophistry, Shirou literally shuddered, as if he could not seriously believe that an intelligent being could think like that. – Every action has its own response and reaction. You can consider me the answer to your...

- What are you talking about? – she drawled venomously, measuring him with a disgusted look. - I would also consider accepting these words from the lips of someone who believes in them, but you yourself don't really care about these people, do you? And don't try to convince me otherwise - I see it in your eyes! You don't care about people, their lives are no more important to you than the lives of the ants you crush with your feet. You yourself have killed your own kind more than once, so how then are you different from us?

- Don't make me laugh... I never killed anyone for fun and didn't look at people like some kind of cattle, - he answered, turning his gaze for a second to the decaying bodies. - You're right that their lives meant little to me, but... that doesn't mean their deaths should go unpunished, and if I can mediate that retribution, then why not?

- And after that you still accuse me of distorted perception? Looks like I was wrong. You are not a fanatic or a champion of everything "good", you are just a lunatic and deviant...

- Maybe so... but you're definitely right about one thing... - he unexpectedly agreed, mentally preparing for a new fight.

- Ho-oh? And what?

- In this world, there is nothing more important for me than achieving my cherished goal, and as long as I remain a winner, the rest does not matter... this thought is so ingrained in my thinking that I will not be able to change it until my death. This is my path and this is who I am. And you... - he pointed one of the blades at the vampire. - You're standing in my way.

- So that's how it is? – she drawled with a bloodthirsty smile, understanding where he was leading. - And what are you going to do about it, manling?

- I'll move you!

With superhuman speed, Emiya rushed towards her, delivering a powerful slash with his blades crisscrossing, but to his surprise, the girl just casually blocked his attack with her claws, smiling cheekily in his face.

— Time Alter: Triple Accel!

Shirou barely had time to speed up time for himself and jump back before her second hand cut through the air where it had been a moment earlier. The blow was swift and deadly, but at the same time thoughtful and... in some way graceful, or what? However, there was no time for admiration, because before the assassin had time to come to his senses, his counterpart took off, unleashing a hail of blows on him, from which even with accelerated time he barely had time to fight back.

And only after that Emiya finally realized what kind of battle he had gotten himself into. His opponent was clearly a powerful vampire, almost certainly one of the Apostles. Compared to her, those three really were like a bunch of ants. Even though he managed to repel her attacks, this did not mean that they did not leave any consequences: the force alone was enough for waves of pain to spread through his limbs. Shirou clearly understood that even the armor that she could effortlessly pierce would not save him from the blow. Only the acceleration and inhuman training of Hassan, who prepared his body and mind for such battles, now saved his life.

However, this led to the obvious conclusion that this could not continue for long. The recoil from the acceleration began to have its negative effect, and the claws of this vampire were so sharp that they left scratches even on the blades of Kanshou and Bakuya, which somewhat shocked Emiya. Who did he run into if even such a weapon did not help against her?

A familiar flash of pain pierced his body, making it clear that time was up, and any attempt to continue using acceleration would only lead to much worse consequences. However, the moment for this was most unfortunate...

As soon as the effect of the magic subsided, a powerful blow fell on him, tearing his chest. His strength was such that the blades fell out of his hands, and he himself flew to the side, rolling head over heels on the ground. From such a turn, everything swam before his eyes, and although his head was intact, the painful shock did its job.

But there was no time to moan in pain and curse the villainous fate - something had to be done and quickly. Not even a couple of seconds will pass before this vampire gets to him and finishes what she started. The situation was rapidly deteriorating, which meant... there was no choice left...

As expected, his opponent did not give him a break, rushing towards him and intending to finish off the wounded enemy. But before she could get close, the assassin jumped to his feet, trying to ignore the burning pain in his chest, and put his hands behind his left side, as if grabbing the hilt of an invisible sword. This gesture did not go unnoticed and confused the vampire for a moment, but only when she was a step away from him, she froze, and the understanding of what was happening was reflected in her eyes with horror, really...

It was already too much late for that...

From a small scarlet crack, as if reality itself was bleeding, a two-handed sword appeared, sheathed. Shirou's hands fell directly onto the hilt, after which he accelerated the passage of time just for a moment, drawing the weapon from its sheath with lightning speed and making a swift counterattack.

It was so unexpected that the vampire was confused. She barely had time to cover herself with her claws, although, in essence, she might not have protected herself from a person's blows, but... her entire vampire essence was screaming that this blow should never be accepted. But this time, she no longer had time to dodge...

The blade cut off the claws on her right hand with amazing ease, and then drew a bloody furrow diagonally along her body. She felt a flash of hitherto unfamiliar pain, as if the wound had been immediately filled with caustic acid, and her soul felt the touch of something alien and sinister.

Stepping back and raising her head, she saw the same assassin clutching a two-handed sword in his hand, which seemed to be pulsating with a crimson light, which, oddly enough, only began to look darker. Taking a closer look, she discovered that there was not a drop of her blood on the sword itself, although the blow should have left it. The young man's body also changed, illuminated by the dim light of his magical circuits, which echoed the flickering of the blade, which suggested certain thoughts, but... she was confused by one fact...

Their color was dark red, almost the same as the flickering of the sword, but... it stubbornly seemed to her that the weapon itself had nothing to do with this at all. It was the guy himself. It was as if something had awakened in him...

And something told her that this would not bode well for her.

***

Shirou, standing opposite her, felt a pleasant coolness spreading through his body, as if he had been doused with water after a long journey under the scorching sun. This feeling even made him dizzy, and his body literally trembled with excitement. Everything seemed so bright... but at the same time muffled, because the wounds that had caused wild pain just a minute ago now seemed no more painful than pin pricks.

The sword almost sang in his hands, wanting to be used. He was waiting for this. He demanded this...

Dainsleif, Sword of Accursed Vengeance...

Of all the weapons in his arsenal, this thing was definitely the most dangerous, both for the enemy and for himself. A cursed demonic sword that carries three Evils: Retribution, Destruction and Vengeance. A divine construct forged by the dwarves for one king. All the information that Luvia had once shared with him, and which he found out himself, flashed through Emiya's head like a whirlwind. The sword was definitely a powerful weapon, but it demanded a high price for its power. Shirou knew this very well, so he swore off using it in battle, but...

Now the situation had turned in such a way that desperate measures were required. His opponent was clearly far beyond human capabilities, and the fight with her was pure suicide, which he realized too late.

This meant only one thing. He should have responded in proportion: to absurdity - with absurdity, to poison - with poison, to madness - with even greater madness.

He had to prevail, because defeat meant certain death. And such an outcome was unacceptable for him...

- Ha... ha-ha-ha... - laughing hoarsely, he wiped the blood from his face and met the gaze of the stunned vampire. - So, round two, my lady!

She barely had time to react to the new attack, for she was so absorbed in studying the newfound wound and its nature that she involuntarily forgot that the battle was far from over. However, it's not that her injuries bothered her much, quite the contrary, but...

The sudden change in her opponent's behavior and fighting style confused her. It wasn't difficult for her to understand that he had somehow pulled out a demonic weapon from some kind of dimensional pocket, which she had encountered before, but... what exactly was this sword? The aura of bloodthirstiness and the desire to kill was practically palpable, which made one think, but the surprises did not end there.

His eyes flashed with some strange, otherworldly light, from which she felt a chill on her skin for the first time in many years. It was as if this man had just looked straight into her soul, as if he had seen her very essence!

The sword, filled with bloodlust, continued its deadly dance, aiming at her throat, and the long claws of the vampire pushed it back over and over again. Surprisingly, they have established a remote semblance of balance.

- Hah, you're not so bad, manling, but otherwise it would be completely boring... - another caustic smile was overshadowed by a new flash of pain.

Dainsleif's blows weaved into an endless web, accelerating every moment, causing deep cuts to appear here and there on her body. They were dangerous, but at the same time, she felt how with each wound every cell of her body was filled with a force that required release.

Pushing away the raging swordsman, she waved her hand... after which the ground in front of Shiro literally tore apart from the giant furrows plowed by them. It was so unexpected that he did not have time to completely dodge, which resulted in deep cuts along his left side, which was already covered in copious amounts of blood.

But Emiya didn't seem to pay attention to this, only looking puzzledly from the frozen vampire to his wound and back, after which a grin escaped his lips.

- So that's it... it seems that now I've begun to understand...

— Have you decided to continue our discussion? How sweet... - she answered with a fake smile, but did not attack, as if expecting something.

- Your attacks... they're only getting more powerful, right? That's why you were able to hurt me now...

- Maybe, or maybe not? What's the point of answering me?

- I don't know how exactly your ability works, but your strengthening is a relative phenomenon. The less advantageous your position in battle, the faster your combat performance grows, but the opposite is also true, because until I have driven you into a corner, you should not expect a transition to a qualitatively new level...

- Let's assume you're right. But how will this help you? – the vampire interrupted him with deliberate disdain, after which she again rushed into battle.

But to her great surprise, Shirou did not move at all, obediently accepting another blow that tore his skin with deep lines from his right eye to his left collarbone, which made him stagger, covering the wounds gushing blood. However, the vampire's triumph was short-lived, because a moment later his lips twisted into an evil grin that chilled the air around them.

The girl did not have time to understand the reason for his gloating, but the next moment a burning pain pierced her body, forcing the vampire to recoil so that she could realize with horror that the fresh wounds on her body were similar to those that she herself had left on the assassin's body. And only now did she understand what kind of vile feeling had been haunting her from the moment of the first blow.

Curse…

Having struck that very first blow, the sword placed a curse on her, which reflected back to her all the damage received by the owner of the sword. In addition, her wounds began to bleed heavily, and even her regeneration could not cope with them - as long as the sword and its owner existed, the wounds inflicted by it would never heal.

- And knowing this, he deliberately exposed himself to the blow... even realizing that he might not survive it?! What kind of crazy is he?!..

Now the initiative has almost completely passed to Emiya. The blows of the sword rained down in an endless hail, and he clearly didn't care about fatigue or numerous wounds. One of the attacks almost ended with her stomach being ripped open, and the next one almost broke the bones in her arm. The onslaught was endless, despite the fact that she could clearly see how his hands were trembling and his weak legs almost gave way as he moved.

- It's funny, you don't regenerate and become stronger from every wound you receive... just the embodiment of the saying: what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. This is so similar to mere mortals... - he said ironically. – And I almost don't see the lines, how strange... it's obvious that you cannot avoid wounds, but you are not yet in danger of death...

- Lines? What is he talking about?

- I admit, it won't be easy to kill something like that...

The situation was starting to get absurd. From her experience, the vampire knew perfectly well that her opponent was already mortally wounded, but he remained calm and adamant, not wanting to go to the next world. He again felt that strange feeling that he had felt then, in Tikrit, clinging to him with all his might, like a saving straw. His mind cleared, as if after a long meditation, and the pain receded, as if his body was not covered with numerous wounds, from which any normal person would have gone to his forefathers long ago.

After another series of blows, he found himself in front of the vampire, raising his sword for a new blow, and she, instead of trying to put up a defense or dodge, was preparing to strike, but...

The girl didn't even have time to notice how her arm was separated from her body, cut off so quickly that even with her reflexes she didn't notice anything. Her gaze involuntarily met Shirou Emiya's eyes. Time seemed to stand still. The vampire held her breath from an unknown sensation that gripped her, as if she had just seen something that she herself was deprived of.

- After all... you were never alive, were you?

Her eyes widened in shock, as if he had looked into her soul, but the assassin did not waste time for further revelations, aiming for her throat with his next swing. And at that moment it dawned on her.

The basis of her contract was that in exchange for not regenerating her wounds, she would receive power proportional to the damage she took. Every scratch, every cut, every lost limb only made her stronger, faster and more agile. At the same time, it did not matter at all how many limbs she would lose, because she simply could not die, but...

What good would all this enhancement be if her head was cut off and she couldn't control her body? She could either take the blow or break her own contract and suffer the consequences. Somehow this man realized that her power placed certain bonds on her, which he decided to take advantage of.

And now she could either become headless or suffer cruelly...

But, fortunately for her, she didn't have to make a choice...

Unbeknownst to both of them, two shadows appeared next to the vampire and unleashed a powerful blow on Emiya, which he barely managed to deflect, although its force still pushed him back. One of the shadows rushed after him, beginning to push the assassin away.

- Sorry it took so long, my lady, - she heard a velvety voice in her ear, and someone's hand politely helped her stay on her feet. - We arrived as soon as we could...

- Strout, Svelten... you're late... - she muttered irritably, looking at the stump that a minute ago was her right hand.

- A thousand apologies, but I think we're just in time,- the White Knight said carefree. - Don't worry. Rizo will quickly deal with him...

***

Shirou had difficulty fending off the attacks of the newly arrived vampire, who appeared out of nowhere literally a second before he would have blown off the girl's head. And the plan was flawless: by decapitating her, he would render her powerless, and it was only a matter of time before he found a way to kill her in such a state. But the whole plan went down the drain...

His opponent was a dark-haired swordsman with red eyes who held a weapon in his hands that exuded no less menace than Dainsleif. This vampire was definitely strong. Perhaps if he had not been so wounded and exhausted, the chances would have been slightly greater, but now his suicidal tactics had turned against him. The power of the bloodsucker's blows was no less than that of that bitch, and his experience in fencing was several hundred years greater. If it weren't for Hassan's training and support from the sword itself, he would have already been turned into mincemeat.

But fatigue and wounds began to take their toll. Over and over again he missed new blows, and there was simply no time to focus on the enemy and try to look for his weak point. Deep wounds from the vampire's sword were already scarlet on his arms and shins, which Shiro tried to take advantage of, reflecting the damage back.

The vampire was clearly surprised to feel several painful pricks in the same places where he himself had struck just a couple of seconds ago, which weakened his onslaught a little while he allowed the wounds to heal. Since they were not inflicted by the blade itself, the curse could not leave them bleeding.

- You have an interesting weapon, and you have some skills, however... kid... - a triumphant grin appeared on his lips. – You still lack experience...

And his next movement turned out to be ten times faster than how he attacked before. This went so far beyond the usual that Shirou could only observe its afterimages...

— Time Alter: Tenfold Accel!

Having accelerated his body to such a speed for the first time, he was able to get on the same level with the vampire and for a second it seemed to him that the bloodsucker's face froze in shock from such a trick, but only for a moment... because then a flurry of blows fell on him...

Shoulder... collarbone... trachea... temple... diaphragm... ribs... groin... left leg... and finally... heart!

— Novem Lives - Roma Works! - came to Shirou before his entire body was almost torn into pieces.

And although he managed to deflect four of the nine blows, protecting vital parts of the body, the rest... was hacked to pieces in the most merciless manner.

With one last effort, he threw Dainsleif back into the void before he collapsed bloodied to the ground and fell into the darkness...