Artoria looked at Kanjuro's remorseless, even joyful face, and the last sliver of hope in her heart vanished into thin air. She no longer tried to understand or influence him, but instead asked the most direct and weakest question: "Kanjuro, stripping away all disguises and putting aside your sophistry about 'hope,' what exactly... do you want?" Her voice was tired and empty, as if she already anticipated that she wouldn't get a real answer.
On the other side, Irisviel's gaze was locked tightly on Illya. Seeing her daughter clinging to Kanjuro like a fledgling bird to its nest, her heart felt as if it were being torn apart. She took a step forward, her voice carrying a sorrowful plea: "Kanjuro... I beg you, give Illya back to me... she's just a child! She doesn't understand anything!"
However, Illya, who had been named, suddenly snapped her head up. Her crimson eyes showed no fear; instead, they flickered with an even more fervent, nearly fanatical light of worship. She hugged Kanjuro's waist tightly, burying her small face in his cold black robe, and shouted in a childish yet incomparably firm voice:
"No! I don't want to leave Papa! Papa isn't a demon! Papa is the most powerful and handsome person in the world! He told me the truth and gave me power! Mama, you don't understand anything at all!"
She looked up at Kanjuro's well-defined jawline, her eyes seemingly sparkling with stars: "Papa, you're so handsome! Everything you say is right! Those adults are all idiots!"
Hearing this, Kanjuro's face showed an extremely satisfied, even somewhat doting smile. He gently stroked Illya's silver hair, but his gaze was provocatively cast toward the pale-faced Artoria.
"See that? Saber." He deliberately used the knight's class title to address her, his tone full of irony. "It's still my little daughter, Illya, who knows best how to appreciate my 'art.' Occasionally, you should learn from this'sister' of yours what it means to have... a pure perspective." He emphasized the relationship of "sister" again, as if rubbing salt into Artoria's wound.
"Sister?" Artoria almost laughed from anger. The laughter was dry and desolate, filled with an endless sense of absurdity. She and Illya? Sisters sharing the same "father"? This twisted relationship made her feel a strong sense of nausea.
Kanjuro ignored them. His gaze turned to Emiya Kiritsugu, who had been standing silently since Maiya's betrayal, his eyes like eternal ice. He walked slowly up to Kiritsugu, the distance between them so close they could feel each other's cold breath.
"What do you want?" Emiya Kiritsugu's voice had no ups or downs, as if he had already prepared himself to accept any outcome, whether it was death or an even crueler fate.
Kanjuro didn't answer immediately. He only slowly raised a hand, the movement elegant yet carrying an irresistible pressure. In the next second, his palm pressed against Emiya Kiritsugu's forehead like a ghost, without any warning!
"Gospel of Mark, Analysis · Retrace — Mental Image Stripping."
The power of the dark bible surged forth, not for destruction, but like the most precise scalpel, cutting directly into the depths of Emiya Kiritsugu's consciousness, forcibly flipping through and extracting his memories covered in blood and fire! Countless images, sounds, and emotional fragments flooded into Kanjuro's perception like a bursting dam—the childhood tragedy, his father's madness, Natalia's death, those 'few' who had to be sacrificed for the 'many,' and... on top of those ruins, looking up at the starry sky, the naive and painful ideal of wanting to'save everyone' that had never truly been extinguished deep within his heart!
Kanjuro closed his eyes as if savoring a complex, aged vintage. After a moment, he opened them, a peculiar smile spreading across his face—one that blended the excitement of discovering a treasure with a cruel sense of amusement.
"I see... Emiya Kiritsugu." Kanjuro's voice carried a mocking realization. "In the deepest depths of your soul—a soul riddled with holes and rusted by reality—you actually still hide such a... dazzlingly foolish 'light'? To want to become an 'Ally of Justice' and save the world from all its suffering? Truly... a touching, tragic wish."
Kiritsugu's body jolted violently as he tried to break free, only to find his will as futile as an ant trying to shake a tree before the man's vast, abyss-like power. His greatest secret and deepest weakness had been unearthed so easily and crudely, exposed to the light of day.
"You...!" A violent surge finally appeared in Kiritsugu's eyes—the fury of having his ultimate taboo touched, mixed with an unmaskable trace of panic.
Kanjuro let go and took half a step back, watching him with leisurely interest, as if he had just completed a fascinating piece of exploration.
"Don't be nervous, Kiritsugu. I suddenly feel that destroying you just like this, or simply letting you fall into despair, would be far too boring." His smile grew deeper, like a devil extending an invitation. "Let's play a game, shall we? A game... that will allow you to see yourself more clearly, and allow me to observe your light of 'hope' up close as it... struggles until it is extinguished in the face of absolute despair."
"What game?" Kiritsugu's voice was dry. He stared fixedly at Kanjuro, every nerve in his body taut. He knew all too well what a "game" in Kanjuro's mouth meant; it was surely an abyss more terrifying than death itself.
Kanjuro's smile was brilliant yet cold. He slowly spoke the name of the game, his voice ringing out like a death knell in everyone's hearts:
"This game is called—"
"The Price of 'Justice'." "What is the... cost of the game?" Kiritsugu's voice was low and strained, each word sounding as if it were being painfully squeezed out of his throat. He understood Kanjuro; a so-called "game" would inevitably be accompanied by blood and despair.
Kanjuro's smile remained gentle, but the coldness in his eyes was enough to freeze a soul.
"The cost? It's very simple." His tone was casual, as if discussing a dinner menu. "Aren't you determined to save the world and become an 'Ally of Justice'? Then, let's verify just how much weight this 'justice' of yours can actually bear."
He tilted his head slightly and instructed Jeanne d'Arc, who had been standing still as a statue, "Jeanne d'Arc, go to Fuyuki City and 'invite' ten children here at random. Remember, it must be random, and ensure they are... healthy and vibrant."
A faint ripple flashed through Jeanne d'Arc's violet eyes, but she did not question or even hesitate. She gave Kanjuro a deep, unreadable look—one filled with scrutiny, curiosity, and perhaps a trace of morbid anticipation for the ultimate darkness about to unfold, a feeling she hadn't even noticed herself. She nodded slightly, her figure turning into a streak of light that vanished from the workshop instantly.
The room fell into a dead silence. Only Illya clung tightly to Kanjuro, an ignorant yet excited smile on her face as if she were looking forward to an interesting performance. Irisviel's face was deathly pale; she wanted to stop him, but found she didn't even have the strength to speak. Artoria closed her eyes, unable to bear watching further.
A moment later, a spatial ripple resonated again. Jeanne d'Arc reappeared, followed by ten children of varying ages and genders. The oldest was no more than twelve or thirteen, while the youngest was perhaps five or six. Their faces were filled with confusion and fear, clearly not understanding why they had been suddenly brought here. The strange adults and the gloomy environment made them tremble, and a few of the younger ones had already begun to sob quietly.
Ten vibrant lives, like ten startled young animals, were placed upon this cruel gambling table.
Kiritsugu's gaze swept over the ten children. His face was like a steel mask, devoid of any expression; even his eyes showed no ripple of emotion. Only someone who knew him well (like the former Maiya, who now stood on the opposite side) could see that his knuckles were white from the excessive force of his clenched fists at his sides.
"The stake is simple." Kanjuro's voice rang out again, pulling everyone's attention back. He raised his hand, and dark magical energy gathered in his palm like a distorted black flame. "Now, I will manifest for you... the person you can least forget in your life, and the one you are least willing to face." He stared at Kiritsugu, his smile turning hideous and malicious. "Of course, I have personally'selected' the candidate from your mind full of painful memories."
"Gospel of Matthew, Manifestation: Mental Image Engraving—Shirley."
The massive dark magical energy surged and took shape, and a clear figure gradually condensed before everyone. It was a young girl wearing a simple dress, about fourteen or fifteen years old, with soft short brown hair and clear, gentle brown eyes like those of a fawn. A shy and pure smile was on her face, like the early spring sun that could melt all ice and snow.
—Shirley.
Kiritsugu was struck as if by a bolt of lightning. His body shook violently, and the cold mask he had been maintaining instantly cracked! His pupils constricted sharply, and his breathing came to a sudden halt!
Shirley... the only one who had given him warmth and kindness during his lonely, painful childhood. The girl who was kind enough to secretly feed stray cats and would cry because he was hurt. The girl... who ultimately died a tragic death before his eyes because of the out-of-control Ghouls resulting from his father's research! She was the wound in his heart that would never heal, one of the starting points for all his tragedies and choices!
"Kiritsugu..." the manifested "Shirley" spoke. Her voice was soft and familiar, carrying that unique, timid concern from his memories. "Are... are you okay? You look so pale..."
Kanjuro looked at Kiritsugu's violently shaken expression with satisfaction. He stepped forward and, like a considerate lover, tenderly pulled "Shirley" into his arms, his fingers gently combing through her brown hair with intimate movements. He looked up at the deathly pale, nearly collapsing Kiritsugu, his voice so gentle it was hair-raising:
"Kiritsugu, look at her. Do you still remember her? This girl you would rather sacrifice the whole world to bring back... she is right here now."
Kiritsugu's vision blurred. Before him was no longer the gloomy Einzbern workshop, but that small island from his childhood—once shrouded in shadows, yet once possessing a sliver of light because of Shirley's presence. Shirley's pure smile, her worried eyes, her soft calling... every detail perfectly overlapped with the most precious fragments in the depths of his memory, ruthlessly battering his long-frozen defenses.
"Now," Kanjuro's voice, like a judge from hell, shattered the cruel illusion, "choose, Kiritsugu. Do you want this Shirley—the one who haunts your dreams and carries your first warmth and final pain—to die? Or do you want those ten vibrant, innocent children behind you, whom you don't even know, to die?" He observed every twitch of the muscles on Kiritsugu's face with great interest. "Remember, the 'justice' of saving the world always requires a price."
Kiritsugu's brow furrowed tightly; he could almost hear his heart drumming frantically in his chest. He stared fixedly at the "Shirley" held in Kanjuro's arms, her eyes still clear and bewildered, and squeezed cold words through his teeth: "You want to test me? To see if I will go soft for a long-gone phantom and sacrifice more living people? To make me personally... sacrifice Shirley again?"
"You catch on quickly." Kanjuro nodded approvingly, his smile cruel. "But don't be in a hurry. To ensure the 'accuracy' of the results, I will conduct this test... ten times."
"Of course Shirley dies!" Kiritsugu said without almost any hesitation, his voice resolute and carrying a near-masochistic determination. Logic told him that saving more lives was the only choice, even if it meant personally stifling the last light in his heart once again.
"Good! Splendid!" Kanjuro snapped his fingers.
Snap!
The lifelike "Shirley" constructed of magical energy didn't even have time to let out a cry before she vanished instantly into the air like a popped bubble, leaving no trace behind. It was as if she had never appeared... Everyone around was stunned, including Artoria and Irisviel. They had expected to see a more complex struggle, a more painful choice, but they hadn't expected Kiritsugu to be so... straightforward? He even displayed a chilling indifference.
"Is it that simple?" Kiritsugu sneered instead, looking at Kanjuro with provocation in his eyes. "Are your tricks nothing more than this?"
"Of course not, that was just the appetizer." The smile on Kanjuro's face remained unchanged, as if he had long expected this. "Let's... go again."
He raised his hand again, and the dark magical energy gathered even more turbulently. This time, after the light faded, it wasn't just one "Shirley" that appeared, but two! They were identical, both carrying that unique shyness and tenderness, as if they had been pulled from different fragments of time simultaneously. They looked at each other curiously, then both turned their gazes toward Kiritsugu with dependence and concern.
"Kiritsugu..."
"Kiritsugu, are you okay?"
The two voices overlapped, speaking the same words, weaving double the beauty and the cruelty.
Kiritsugu's breathing grew noticeably heavy for a moment, but he still gritted his teeth and almost roared out:
"Shirley dies!!"
"Good!" Kanjuro's smile deepened as he snapped his fingers again.
The two "Shirleys" shattered and vanished simultaneously like exquisite porcelain dolls.
Immediately following was the third time.
This time, there were five "Shirleys"!
They surrounded Kiritsugu like flowers; some were smiling, some were softly humming familiar nursery rhymes, and some reached out as if wanting to touch him, murmuring private words that belonged only to their childhood, recounting small but warm moments forgotten in the corners of memory. Five vibrant (albeit phantom) Shirleys, carrying his earliest and purest emotions, surrounded him, using their existence to silently interrogate his soul.
Kiritsugu's body began to tremble violently, veins bulging on his forehead, his teeth chattering. Immense pain struck his dam of reason like a tsunami. He could feel cold liquid sliding uncontrollably from the corners of his eyes—physiological tears that could not be suppressed.
But he still used every ounce of his strength to let out a roar from the depths of his throat, like a wounded beast:
"Shirley... DIES!!!"
His voice was hoarse and broken, yet it still carried an unquestionable resolve.
Kanjuro watched with satisfaction as he wept yet still made the "correct" choice, and once again obliterated the five "Shirleys."
Artoria watched this scene in disbelief, her stomach churning. She had experienced the cruelty of war and had made choices to sacrifice the few to save the many, but to take the most cherished and softest part of a person's heart and manifest it repeatedly in increasingly cruel ways, forcing them to personally "kill" it over and over... this was no longer a test; it was the ultimate dismemberment of the soul! Looking at Kiritsugu's figure, twisted in pain yet still persevering, what welled up in her heart was not approval, but a deep sense of pity and dread.
(So... testing a person can be cruel to this extent...) Five.
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