I looked at Artoria Pendragon—the legendary King of Knights—now dressed in simple clothes, smiling softly at Shirou with a warmth that seemed almost out of place for someone like her. The very same warrior who once led armies with unshakable resolve now stood in a quiet hallway, holding a kitchen towel.
"Thank you, Shirou," she said gently. "Did you bring everything on the list?"
Shirou nodded, a small but proud smile on his face. "Yes. I even got the tea you like."
"Good. Then go and arrange them in the kitchen, please."
He nodded again and disappeared down the hallway, his footsteps light and purposeful.
The moment he was gone, the air shifted.
Artoria turned to face me fully, and in that instant, I understood why history had once bent the knee to her.
She wasn't just a woman in casual clothes—she was a sovereign. A warrior-queen cloaked in silence and grace. Her golden hair, tied back with humble elegance, carried the weight of an unseen crown. And her eyes—piercing emeralds—held the calm, alert intensity of a lioness watching a trespasser near her cub.
No armor. No sword. And yet, her presence alone thundered louder than any battlefield.
She was the Lion King of old legend, tamed perhaps by time and love—but never defanged.
Her smile remained, but it no longer reached her eyes. The warmth she'd shown Shirou was gone, replaced by a mask of measured politeness. Compassion had retreated behind a warrior's poise.
"You must be the man Shirou brought home," she said, her voice calm but tinged with caution.
I straightened slightly. "Yes. My name is Allen Black. I came to speak with Kiritsugu Emiya."
Her eyes narrowed—subtly, but deliberately.
A knight's instincts. A mother's guard.
I had stepped into the lion's den.
"Then please, follow me."
I obeyed, and as I followed her down the hallway, my thoughts churned. This was Artoria Pendragon, without a doubt—but there were differences. Subtle ones. Physically, she bore traits from multiple versions of herself. Her stance and gaze carried the weight of Lancer Artoria, yet there was a gentleness around the edges—something more like her Saber self.
Even her personality felt slightly off. The way she had spoken to Shirou, the maternal affection in her tone—I couldn't imagine any version of Artoria I knew behaving that way. Not unless something fundamental had changed.
We arrived at a quiet sitting room, furnished in traditional Japanese style. She gestured politely.
"Please wait here a few minutes. Kiritsugu is not home at the moment."
"Of course," I replied, stepping inside and taking a seat on the tatami mat.
She lingered a moment longer. "Would you like some tea? I'm fairly good at preparing it."
"I'd love some," I said with a polite nod.
She turned and walked away with quiet grace, leaving me alone.
The moment she was gone, I spoke quietly.
"System. Activate [World Navigator]."
A soft hum echoed in my mind.
[World Navigator Activated.]
This ability didn't just guide me—it optimized my thoughts. It flooded my mind with relevant data, streamlined my reasoning, and allowed me to analyze the world around me with ruthless clarity.
I asked the system to analyze what had happened during the Fourth Holy Grail War in this timeline. Why was Artoria Pendragon here? Why had she survived?
What I discovered nearly made my breath hitch.
Another person—someone like me—had already arrived in this world.
He had entered the Fourth War as the Master of Caster.
And that single interference had shifted everything.
The broad strokes of history remained, but key events had warped. Altered.
My thoughts reeled from the implications, but I forced myself to stay focused. I had one more question.
System, which Nasuverse timeline is this? Will my actions create a separate branch… or something worse, like a Singularity or a Lostbelt?
[Host is currently within the original timeline—all others branch from this one. You do not need to worry about causing a Singularity or Lostbelt, as long as key events remain intact.]
Relief came—but it was short-lived.
Define key events, I asked. What specifically must happen to keep the timeline stable?
[Key events include:
The separation of the Age of Gods from the modern era.
The fall of Camelot.
Shirou Emiya becoming an orphan at the end of the Fourth Holy Grail War, and forming a contract with Alaya.]
One entry hit me harder than the rest.
Shirou. I exhaled slowly.
'Shirou? Why is that event—a tragedy—considered critical?'
[Shirou Emiya's orphaning is the catalyst for multiple converging timelines. His trauma and adoption by Kiritsugu forge the idealism central to his future.]
I blinked. You mean… without the fire, without losing everything—he never becomes—
[Correct. Without the Fuyuki Fire, Shirou never inherits the dream of saving everyone. He never becomes the heir to Kiritsugu's broken ideals. Without that dream, his future incarnations—including the user of Unlimited Blade Works and the Counter Guardian—cease to exist.]
I leaned back, breath caught in my throat.
The kid in the other room—the one who smiled so innocently while carrying groceries—wasn't just Kiritsugu's adopted son.
He was something else entirely.
He was a turning point.
[Shirou's path allows humanity to produce a guardian capable of countering threats even Alaya cannot reach. His existence spans Fate, Unlimited Blade Works, Heaven's Feel. In all timelines, he represents the balance between idealism and consequence.]
Visions flashed across my mind:
A boy clashing swords with a king.
A red-coated man confronting his past in a world of infinite blades.
A dying girl held beneath falling sakura petals.
An emotionless executioner protecting the world as a tool of the Counter Force.
So if someone saves his family, or kills him before the fire—
[Then Alaya loses a key agent. The timeline fractures. Global anchors destabilize. Others may rise, but not in time. And not with the same result.]
I exhaled slowly, a chill crawling up my spine.
If Shirou were to fall… if he never became that version of himself…
There would be no Hero of Justice.
No Blade Works.
Only silence, where legends should stand.
And I would be the cause.
Just then, Artoria re-entered the room, setting a tray with tea before me. Her movements were calm, elegant.
"Thank you," I said, voice steady.
"No need to thank me. It's my duty to attend to our guest," she replied.
I took a sip—and nearly lost my composure. The tea was divine.
"May I know your name?" I asked, needing something—anything—to distract myself before Kiritsugu arrived.
"My name is Artoria Emiya."
I nodded at her. But before I could speak again, the door behind her slid open.
A man stepped into the room—black hair, black eyes, pale skin. His yukata was plain, but his face bore the marks of stress and sleepless nights.
I knew him instantly.
Kiritsugu Emiya.
The man who would plant the dream inside Shirou—the broken ideal that would bloom into something far greater than either of them could understand.
The man who, in his attempt to save the world, would create the Counter Guardian Emiya.
And I couldn't change that.
Kiritsugu sat across from me and said only one thing:
"It's done."
I frowned. "What is?"
Before I could react, an ironclad grip seized my neck and slammed me to the tatami.
The speed—inhuman. My thoughts scrambled.
I tried to look up—and froze.
Artoria Pendragon stood above me.
But this wasn't the polite hostess.
This was the King of Knights. The slayer of armies. The tyrant of mercy.
Her hand clenched around my throat like a vice, and her eyes—
Her eyes were those of a lioness about to tear out the throat of a threat to her cub.
Murderous. Final.
And she was one heartbeat away from snapping my neck.