The streets of Velgrath had quieted beneath the falling veil of night. Two pale moons hung above the rooftops, casting a soft silver hue over the cobbled roads. The lanterns lining the street flickered gently, their golden light swaying with the breeze, stretching shadows long and thin against the walls. Most of the day's crowds had dispersed, leaving only the occasional traveller or drunk stumbling toward home.
Shirou adjusted the collar of his shirt as he walked briskly along the path, his senses calm but alert. He had eaten his fill, exchanged a few words with the tavern owner, and was ready to return to the inn to rest. But instead of taking the longer road along the main street, he slipped into a narrow alley—one he'd used before to save time.
The stone walls of the alley towered over him, cold and damp. The smell of old wood, lingering smoke, and faint mildew clung to the air. As his footsteps echoed softly across the stone, a chill ran down his spine.
Silence.
Too silent.
He could hear his own heartbeat and the faint click of his boot soles on stone. No distant laughter, not even the rustle of wind.
Something's off. His instincts screamed
Then it came.
A blade whistled past his head—so close he felt the air split beside his ear. He ducked, barely avoiding the fatal strike, and twisted sideways just in time to evade another attack from behind. Sparks flared to life in his palm, red-hot and crackling with fire mana. His dagger, Inferno Fang, materialized from his inventory, the blade glowing with heat.
He now stood with his back to the wall, eyes sweeping the darkness ahead.
A lone figure stood at the end of the alley, shrouded in shadow. A hood concealed his face, and a black mask covered his mouth and nose. His stance was relaxed, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a slender blade that gleamed faintly in the moonlight. His clothes were dark but clean, and Shirou's sharp eyes caught the slight sheen of reinforced fabric under the cloak but Shirou could sense it. That calmness was a lie.
"You're quick," Shirou said quietly, settling into a defensive stance.
The masked man let out a low chuckle, his voice calm but cold. "And you're already dead."
Before Shirou could react, the figure disappeared—and then reappeared a breath later, right in front of him.
He's fast.
Shirou surged mana into his legs, lightning arcing down to his boots. The moment the assassin's blade came for his neck, he kicked off the ground and twisted midair, narrowly dodging the strike. Sparks crackled from his feet as he landed and immediately deflected the next blow with Inferno Fang. Their blades clashed with a hiss, fire against steel.
The alley was suddenly filled with motion—flashes of steel, bursts of flame, and the clang of weapons.
The attacker pressed the assault relentlessly, launching strike after strike. Shirou blocked what he could, ducked the rest. Each blow came faster than the last, and his muscles screamed from the strain of parrying and dodging in the tight corridor. Then the enemy's knife came from above. Shirou ducked, pivoted low, and drove his blade upward in a clean arc across the man's torso.
The attacker jumped back just in time—but not fast enough. A red line appeared on his cloak, and he touched his chest with a hiss.
"You are quick too," he said, almost amused "Let's see you handle this."
"Phantom Mirage."The words echoed around him.
Suddenly, five more figures stepped out from the shadows. They moved in perfect synchronicity, each one mirroring the other. They fanned out, closing the circle around him. Shirou gritted his teeth and backed up slowly, eyes darting from one to the other.
He slashed at the nearest one. The blade cut cleanly through it—too cleanly. The figure vanished into mist, leaving behind nothing.
Clones... no, illusions?
It was a trick.
The real blow came from his left.
Steel flashed. Shirou turned too late. A sharp sting bit into his right arm, slicing his sleeve and drawing a thin line of blood. He hissed in pain, stepping back quickly.
"You were in the café earlier," Shirou said, narrowing his eyes.
The man tilted his head. "What café?"
"You're wearing the same shoes," Shirou said as he smirked.
The attacker laughed lightly. "Aren't you a little too observant? Too bad your observant skill ends today"
"What do you want?" Shirou asked, glancing between the illusions, trying to catch a twitch, a shadow—anything.
"Money," he said. "And that dagger of yours. Put it on the ground and walk away. I'll let you live."
Shirou raised an eyebrow. "And if I don't?"
"Tch, Then I'll take it off your corpse."
As if on cue, the clones moved, their steps soundless. They tightened their formation, drawing closer. Each one held a blade, ready to strike.
"These are illusions," Shirou muttered, voice low. "They vanish when hit."
"Yes," all five figures replied at once, voices overlapping eerily. "But before you find the real one, you'll already be dead."
They struck as one.
Shirou sprang forward, narrowly avoiding two blades aimed at his back. He slashed again, taking out another illusion. As it vanished, he rolled to the side—too late. A sharp pain sliced across his ribs. He staggered, breath caught in his throat. Blood stained the side of his shirt. The real one had hit him again, right after the feint.
Damn it. He's fast and he's playing it smart.
But Shirou wasn't just relying on brute strength. He gritted his teeth and raised his hand. A pulse of heat surged through his veins.
If I can't find him... then I'll burn them all.
The clones closed in again. Four now. Shirou drew his breath and charged toward one of them, sliding beneath his attack just as a knife slashed overhead. He rolled to his feet behind the figure, flames gathering in his palm.
"Good," he whispered, a wicked glint in his eye. "You're all close together now."
He raised his hand high.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball!"
A swirling mass of fire burst forth, roaring down the alley like a miniature sun. The blast engulfed the clones in searing heat. Two of them evaporated instantly, consumed by the firestorm. The other two leapt backwards to avoid it—but Shirou was already on the move.
With a snap of his wrist, Inferno Fang left his fingers.
The blade spun in the air, a streak of firelight in the dark.
It struck one of the figures in the chest—and this time, the illusion didn't vanish.
But the one on the left vanished.
The man gasped, staggering backwards, eyes wide in shock. Blood seeped through his shirt around the embedded dagger. His mask slipped slightly as he dropped to one knee, his breath ragged.
A choked gasp escaped the thief's lips as he stumbled backwards, clutching the dagger embedded in his shoulder. His eyes widened in disbelief.
"H-How did you know?" he asked, voice hoarse.
Shirou walked toward him slowly, firelight reflecting in his eyes. His breathing was heavy, his ribs aching, but his gaze was steady.
Shirou stared down at the man, his voice cold.
"I didn't,"