There were quite a few bats. They would not send the White Winged Ancestor straight to heaven, but if they all hit him, he would be lucky not to get skinned alive.
To avoid the dignified White Winged Ancestor suffering the fate of being flayed, he could only rapidly cast all kinds of magecraft to intercept the bats. Because there were simply too many of them, he failed to notice that some of the bats had flown away on their own.
"Kid, honestly, you are a good opponent. You suit my tastes, and you are even more worthy of the title Black Wing Lord than that puppet. But do not underestimate the foundations of us old-timers," the White Winged Ancestor said as he took out another scroll. If his previous injuries had also been healed this way, then this was already the third one. "Take this!"
"Do not get too smug, White Winged Ancestor. Since you like dancing so much, then dance until you die!"
Broken Phantasm!
He did not even leave the White Winged Ancestor time to react. Clearly, this was not something a proper gentleman would do.
Obviously, Shirou was not a proper gentleman. His body had already undergone a change. It had nothing to do with whether he was refined or not; the most obvious change was his magical energy.
The magical energy within him became extremely unstable. This sort of behavior was usually called self-destruction. There was no sound, because the instant the explosion occurred, Shirou's Mind Image Projection had already vanished.
Shirou, restored to his normal state, stood amid the Baffaloe Residence, which had been reduced to a heap of shattered rubble by the previous two Royal Hollow Flashes.
His face was somewhat pale. It hurt.
Self-destruction only blew up his own body. Although he could regenerate a new body as long as he had enough magical energy, it still hurt!
"Ugh—I finally understand what it feels like for a great hero to unleash a Noble Phantasm. This really hurts!" Complaints aside, Shirou quickly prepared himself for battle. That self-destruction had been powerful, but it was still impossible for it to kill an old monster like the White Winged Ancestor.
A flash of white light passed, and the White Winged Ancestor reappeared in the sky. However, his current appearance was worlds apart from how he had looked when he first appeared.
His once-majestic face was now filthy and disheveled. His pure white hair was covered in patches of black, and Shirou could even see a few sparks. He reeked of burning, while his solemn white robes had become tattered beyond recognition. The entire True Ancestor looked like he had just crawled out of a crematorium.
Even if someone threw this lump of charcoal into the Barthomeloi family estate, the Barthomeloi family would probably be too embarrassed to acknowledge him.
"Though I expected it, seeing it with my own eyes is still surprising. He did not die from that?" Shirou was genuinely stunned by the True Ancestor's powerful vitality. That self-destruction had nearly matched Spartacus's Noble Phantasm, Crying Warmonger. At that distance, the White Winged Ancestor had basically taken an anti-army Light Cannon to the face.
Shirou honestly asked himself whether he could have survived it.
The White Winged Ancestor's face was black now. Yes, just like that minor character who had died a few chapters ago—it had been blown black.
From Royal Hollow Flashes to soul-splitting and High-Speed Regeneration, Shirou had constantly given the White Winged Ancestor new surprises, bringing him the thrill of opening a surprise gift box... Well, perhaps it was more accurate to call it a fright.
Mind Image Projection, Resurrección, then using a method even more vampiric than his own to evade a fatal injury. Finally, Shirou had plastered his face with a spectacular self-destruction, nearly blowing him to death—and the brat who had nearly killed him was now standing there as if nothing had happened.
Yeah, nothing wrong with that. What an absurd display.
"You are actually still alive!" the White Winged Ancestor said in surprise. He himself could not remember the last time he had been surprised.
"Yep, just as you can see." Shirou spread his hands, tilted his head, and said to the White Winged Ancestor, "They say good people die young, while scourges live for a thousand years. And no matter how you look at it, I am not a good person, so I survived."
The White Winged Ancestor pondered it for a long time without understanding what Shirou meant, so he simply skipped over the matter.
He said, "Someone with power as great as yours should not be an unknown figure. May I, Ortolocke, have the honor of learning your name?"
"I am not telling you!" Shirou said like a child. "I am not stupid. Why do you think I fought you in the first place? Was it not because you were connected to my target this time, and I was worried you might cause trouble for the people around me?"
Just for that? Shirou's reason made the White Winged Ancestor so depressed he nearly coughed up blood. Was he really so petty that he would make trouble for himself over such a small reason?
...No, I really might.
As a typical hawk among the Twenty-Seven Ancestors, he had even proposed hunting Arcueid. It would not be strange for someone like him to do anything.
"Then you are no longer worried now? You should know that in this world, there is nothing one wishes to know but cannot learn," the White Winged Ancestor asked again.
"Of course you can find out. You can also seek revenge." As he spoke, Shirou revealed a dangerous expression full of threat. "But when that time comes, even if I have to descend into hell, I will take you with me. If you do not believe me, then try it."
Shirou was a very petty yet very straightforward person. His family and friends were his final bottom line. If anyone crossed it, then even if he had to drag this entire world down with him, Shirou would not hesitate.
Shirou had always understood his own role very clearly: a completely insane man who could fight like hell.
But by now, it was no longer a question of whether they could continue fighting. Through his sensory field, Shirou could clearly sense a considerable number of people approaching this place.
Although he did not know whether they were enemies or allies, they certainly were not here for Shirou, a newcomer who had only just entered the scene.
Shirou glanced at the White Winged Ancestor. He was a magus, and every magus of any standing had ways to preserve their life—especially an old fellow like him who had lived for over a thousand years.
A fireball larger than a washbasin suddenly flew over, and the person who had launched it was an old man. This old gentleman was also quite renowned at the Clock Tower—Lord Barthomeloi.
This Barthomeloi is as useless as the police in a novel. The damn fight is already over before they show up!
Shirou complained inwardly. He had seen portraits of the Clock Tower's major figures back in El-Melloi, though he had no idea why these people did not use cameras.
Although the White Winged Ancestor was not in very good condition, an attack of this level could not possibly hurt him. Otherwise, how could he still call himself the White Winged Ancestor?
With a casual wave, he extinguished the fireball and looked displeased in the direction it had come from—
"Brat of Barthomeloi, do not get in my way!"
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