The Battle Ends Here

The number of bats was considerable. While not enough to send the White Winged Ancestor straight to heaven, if they all hit him, he'd be lucky to escape with his skin intact.

To avoid the disgrace of being flayed alive, the White Winged Ancestor quickly unleashed various spells to intercept the bats. Because of their sheer numbers, he failed to notice that some of them had flown off on their own.

"Kid, I'll be honest—you're a fine opponent, right up my alley, even more suited for the title of Black Wing Lord than that puppet. But don't underestimate the foundations of us old-timers." The White Winged Ancestor pulled out another scroll. If his earlier injuries had been healed the same way, this was already the third one. "Take this!"

"Don't get too cocky, White Winged Ancestor. Since you love dancing so much, then dance until you drop!"

Broken Phantasm!

He didn't even leave the White Winged Ancestor time to react—this was clearly not something a decent person would do.

Obviously, Shirou wasn't a decent person. His body had already undergone a change, and it had nothing to do with decency. The most notable shift was in his magical energy.

The magical energy inside him became extremely unstable. This kind of behavior was usually called self-destruction. There was no sound, because the moment the explosion occurred, Shirou's Mind Image Projection had already vanished.

Reverting to his normal state, Shirou stood on the pile of rubble that had once been the Baffaloe Residence, reduced to debris by the two flashes of the King's Void earlier.

His face was a bit pale—from the pain.

Self-destruction only blew up his own body. As long as he had enough magical energy, he could regenerate, but it still hurt!

"Hiss—now I finally understand what it feels like for a great hero to use their Noble Phantasm. This really hurts!" Despite his grumbling, Shirou quickly prepared for battle. That self-destruction just now, while powerful, wasn't enough to take down an old monster like the White Winged Ancestor.

A flash of white light, and the White Winged Ancestor reappeared in the sky, but his current state was worlds apart from his grand entrance.

His dignified face was now covered in dust and grime. His pure white hair was now speckled with soot, and Shirou even spotted a few sparks. A burnt smell wafted from him, and his solemn white robe was tattered and torn. The whole True Ancestor looked like he'd just crawled out of a crematorium.

At this point, even if you threw this lump of charcoal into the Barthomeloi household—his worst enemies—they probably wouldn't have the face to claim him.

"I expected it, but seeing it with my own eyes is still surprising. He's still alive?" Shirou felt genuinely stunned by the True Ancestor's vitality. The self-destruction just now was nearly as powerful as Spartacus's Noble Phantasm, Crying Warmonger. Add in the distance, and the White Winged Ancestor had basically taken an anti-army Light Cannon to the face.

Shirou asked himself honestly—he probably wouldn't have survived that.

The White Winged Ancestor's face was now black. Yes, just like that nameless extra who died a few chapters ago—from the explosion.

From the flash of the King's Void to soul splitting and High-Speed Regeneration, Shirou had been giving the White Winged Ancestor one surprise after another, bringing him the thrill of a surprise gift box... Well, maybe it was more like a shock.

Mind Image Projection, Resurrección, then using a method even more vampire-like than his own to dodge fatal blows, and finally getting hit in the face with a flashy self-destruction that nearly killed him. And the kid who nearly blew him up was now standing there like nothing happened.

Yeah, no problem. That was a pro play.

"You're still alive?!" The White Winged Ancestor said in surprise. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been surprised.

"Yeah, just like you see," Shirou said, spreading his hands and tilting his head. "They say the good die young, but the wicked live long. And I don't look like a good person by any stretch, so I survived."

The White Winged Ancestor thought it over for a long time but couldn't figure out what Shirou meant, so he just skipped the issue.

He said, "A being with such power as yours shouldn't be nameless. I wonder if I, Ortolocke, am worthy of knowing your title."

"I'm not telling you!" Shirou said like a child. "I'm not stupid. Why do you think I fought you? Because you're connected to my target this time, and I'm worried you'll cause trouble for the people around me."

That was the reason? The White Winged Ancestor was so frustrated he could spit blood. Was he really so cheap that he'd bring trouble on himself over such a trivial reason?

...No, wait, he probably would.

As a typical hawk among the Twenty-Seven Ancestors, someone who could even propose hunting Arcueid, nothing he did would be surprising.

"So you're not worried now? You should know, in this world, there's nothing that can't be known if someone wants to know it." The White Winged Ancestor pressed further.

"Of course you can find out, and you can take revenge." Shirou's expression turned dangerous, laced with threat. "But when that time comes, even if I have to go to hell, I'll take you with me. If you don't believe me, try it."

Shirou was a very petty and very pure person. His family and friends were his ultimate bottom line. If anyone crossed that line, he wouldn't hesitate to drag even this world down with him.

Shirou had always been clear about his own position: a lunatic who could fight like hell.

But at this point, the fight was no longer about whether they could keep going. Through his perception field, Shirou could clearly sense a considerable number of people approaching.

He didn't know if they were friend or foe, but they probably weren't coming for a newcomer like him.

Shirou glanced at the White Winged Ancestor. He was a magus, and every magus of any standing had a way to save their own skin—especially an old geezer who'd lived for over a thousand years.

A fireball, bigger than a washbasin, suddenly flew over. The one who launched it was an old man. This elder also held a considerable reputation in the Clock Tower—Lord Barthomeloi.

"This Barthomeloi guy is just as useless as the cops in novels. I'm already done fighting, and they show up now!"

Shirou complained inwardly. He'd seen portraits of the Clock Tower's bigwigs back in El-Melloi, but he had no idea why they didn't just use cameras.

Even though the White Winged Ancestor wasn't in great shape, a trick like that couldn't hurt him. Otherwise, what kind of White Winged Ancestor would he be?

He casually swatted the fireball away and glared irritably in the direction it came from—

"Barthomeloi brat, don't get in my way!"