[Complete] Ch 6.3 Is it Wrong for a Sword to Remain Sheathed Against Injustice?

Is it Wrong for a Sword to Remain 

Sheathed Against Injustice?

Story Starts

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Chapter 6.3

The Gale’s Justice

Demands a Stakeout

As soon as the three oddly dressed Familia members turned the corner, Alise and Lyra leapt to the roof beside them—Lyra needing to bounce between walls twice to clear the height, a reminder that architecture was not designed with prum in mind—not that any architecture took into account adventurers using their building's walls to get to their rooftops.

"Which direction did they—"

Alise looked up from her crouch and locked eyes with two of their Familia members already occupying the adjacent rooftop.

Neze and Celty crouched on the building directly opposite Athena's shop, positioned behind a chimney stack, and it looked like they had been there since the start. Celty offered a small, slightly guilty wave.

They, too, were clearly using their allotted day off to scratch the itch of curiosity.

Alise and Lyra exchanged a look, then leapt across the street gap to join them.

"Alise, I've lost line of sight on the three. We should go," Lyra said.

"Umm..." Celty, the normally quiet and meek Celty, raised a finger. "They're probably heading towards the Guild."

"Oh, that's good—at least we know what di—"

"Do you know what they're doing?" Lyra asked the other two.

"We should probably get go—"

"They're planning on following Emiya today," Neze supplied, as though Alise hadn't spoken at all.

"Ah—our noodle merchant frie—"

"I'm assuming this is to finally—"

"Hey! Stop interrupti—" Alise protested.

But Lyra had already turned back to Neze and Celty, the three of them engaged in an efficient exchange of intelligence that sailed cleanly over their captain's head.

"—get rid of Ryuu's suspicion of Emiya?"

Neze patted Alise's shoulder consolingly. Alise squatted low, knees drawn up, one hand tracing dejected circles on the rooftop tiles. The captain of the Astraea Familia—Level 3, vanquisher of monsters, purveyor of justice, THE Scarlet Harnel—had been reduced to sulking on a chimney ledge because nobody would let her finish a sentence.

Celty nodded at Lyra's question.

"Ahem."

All four heads swivelled, scanning the surrounding rooftops.

Had their Goddess and Kaguya discovered them already?

"Ahem."

The four looked down.

Arachne stood in the street below, one brow raised. Her expression suggested she was already filled to the brim with nonsense and had no capacity for more. Her arms were crossed. She'd clearly been watching them—four supposedly elite adventurers scrambling across rooftops with all the subtlety of cats chasing pigeons—and her patience had survived the spectacle. Barely.

Beside her stood Athena.

The goddess of wisdom looked satisfied. Vindicated, even. She beckoned them down with a long finger. Tucked under her other arm, braced against her hip, sat a wooden box.

From their vantage point, the four could see into the shop behind them. Aphrodite was still inside, gesticulating wildly from the velvet couch whilst Galatea dutifully refilled her wine glass. The goddess of love appeared to have moved on from complaining about other goddesses and was now complaining about the fundamental ingratitude of mortals in matters of the heart. Her voice carried faintly through the glass:

"—and he didn't even notice! I wore my best chiton! My best one!"

Athena's smile widened. She tapped the lid of the box.

"I took the liberty of preparing additional sets," she said, her voice carrying up to them with crisp clarity. "The goddess of wisdom always accounts for variables." She glanced at Arachne.

Arachne sighed. "The Goddess has instructed me to prepare for your whole Familia."

Alise looked at Lyra. Lyra looked at Neze. Neze looked at Celty. Celty looked back at Alise.

They dropped from the roof.

"Now, please refer to me as Agent Minerva. This is Q." Athena gestured towards Arachne, who closed her eyes as though praying for patience. "Let us discuss mission parameters and secure additional assets for the operation."

-=&&=-

"Goddess," Ryuu said, looking away from the stares they were attracting as they stood in line at a jagamarukun vendor. "Why are we—"

"Agent!" Astraea whispered urgently, cutting her off. "You must not break deep cover." She adjusted her dark spectacles with a gloved finger. "Now again—what is my call sign?"

Ryuu felt her ears heat. Since leaving Athena's shop, their goddess had been discussing mission parameters, going dark, and maintaining deep cover with an enthusiasm that suggested she'd been waiting her entire divine existence for this exact scenario. She'd even said bizarre things like this message will self-destruct in three seconds—miming an explosion with both hands whilst Kaguya passed her another glass of wine from somewhere inside her trench coat.

None of these phrases meant anything to Ryuu. She suspected they didn't mean anything to anyone currently alive in either Gekai or Tenkai, but Astraea delivered them with such conviction that questioning them felt almost sacrilegious.

"Star One," Ryuu mumbled.

"What is my full call sign, Star Three Bunny?"

Heat spread from Ryuu's ears down to her neck. Of the three designations Astraea had assigned, hers was the only one that included a modifier apparently chosen to reflect her "inner nature." Kaguya had received "Star Two Sentinel," which at least sounded competent. Ryuu had protested the assignment. Astraea had overruled the protest. Kaguya had laughed so hard she'd nearly dropped her wine.

Ryuu lifted her coat collar higher, as though the fabric might swallow her whole. "Star One Justice Actual."

The person ahead of them collected their order and moved away.

"Where is Ka—"

"Ahem." Astraea gave her a pointed look over the rim of her dark spectacles, then turned to the vendor with theatrical gravitas. "We require two bags of eighteen jagamarukun. Thank you."

The vendor opened his mouth, possibly to comment on the outfits, possibly to confirm the order, possibly to ask whether this was some sort of elaborate joke. Then he looked at the two women—one radiating divine authority behind opaque spectacles, one mortified to the point of physical pain—and proved wise enough to simply fill the bags.

Ryuu swallowed what remained of her dignity. "Where is Star Two Sentinel?"

"I have tasked Star Two to secure additional rations and establish our extraction point."

Ryuu frowned. She distinctly remembered Kaguya vanishing the moment their bottle of wine ran dry. No discussion. No excuse. Astraea and Kaguya had simply exchanged a look—the kind of wordless communication that came with years of being in each other's presence—and Kaguya had melted into the crowd.

Two paper bags changed hands. Astraea pressed one into Ryuu's arms. The bag was warm and smelled of fried potatoes. Despite everything, Ryuu's stomach made an undignified sound.

"I have visual on Sentinel," Astraea declared, lifting her chin towards one of the smaller pathways branching off the main street.

Ryuu turned.

Kaguya was leaning against a building wall at the mouth of an alley, trench coat spread wide behind her and catching the breeze. A fresh wine glass had materialised in her hand. A new bottle—corked and tucked into the crook of her elbow—suggested she'd come prepared for the long haul. Passers-by gave her a wide berth, navigating around her with the careful avoidance reserved for individuals who might be either dangerously eccentric, dangerously competent, or simply a nutcase.

Kaguya raised the glass in their direction. She looked entirely too comfortable.

Ryuu felt a bead of sweat trace down her temple.

Then a familiar voice pricked her ears.

"Ais, how many more stalls are we going to check?" The measured tones of Riveria Ljos Alf carried clearly over the market noise. "This noodle merchant who sells the jagamarukun you like is probably taking a break."

Ryuu's spine went rigid. Riveria Ljos Alf. Here. Now. Within two streets of three women dressed in clothing that defied description, wearing opaque spectacles in the late afternoon sun, and carrying enough jagamarukun to feed a small platoon.

Whatever opinions Ryuu held about elven culture—and she held many—she could admit the High Elf didn't share her people's typical contempt for other races despite her pedigree. Ryuu respected Riveria for that.

Which made the prospect of being seen in this outfit absolutely, categorically, irredeemably unacceptable.

She grabbed Astraea's arm and quickened her pace towards Kaguya.

"Star Three! Star Three!" Astraea protested in an urgent whisper, somehow keeping her jagamarukun bag perfectly level despite being half-dragged through the crowd. "This is a Code Vermillion situation! We do not break formation without authorisation from command! I repeat—maintain tactical spacing!"

"We need to move," Ryuu hissed.

"Negative, Star Three Bunny. Protocol dictates we assess the threat level before—"

"The threat level is Riveria Ljos Alf seeing us dressed like this."

Astraea's theatrical urgency wavered for a fraction of a second. Even divine commitment to the bit had its limits.

Then she recovered magnificently. "Understood. Initiating emergency extraction. Star Two Sentinel, prepare for immediate departure!"

Kaguya looked up from her wine glass as they approached at speed. Her eyebrow rose a fraction. She took in Ryuu's expression—which presumably communicated everything that needed communicating—and glanced past them toward the main thoroughfare.

"We have incoming," Kaguya confirmed.

"Loki Familia," Astraea added, her whisper somehow carrying dramatic weight despite being barely audible. "High-value personnel. We cannot risk cover compromise."

Kaguya's other eyebrow joined the first. Then she drained her wine in one smooth motion, tucked the empty glass back into her coat's interior pocket, and corked the bottle with her thumb. "Understood, Star One Justice Actual. I've secured our extraction route." She gestured down the alley with her chin. "Three blocks south, then cut through the textile district. We can loop back to the target's projected route from there."

"Excellent work, Sentinel."

Ryuu didn't wait for further operational discussion. She pulled both of them into the alley, her longer stride eating up the distance. Behind her, Astraea had shifted seamlessly from alarm back into mission mode:

"—we have secured our rations, we should double back to designation Alpha upon—"

"Baba!"

The voice was young, stubborn, and carried from somewhere near the jagamarukun stall they'd just fled. It was followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a fist connecting with the top of someone's head—a sharp, practised thwack that Ryuu recognised intimately, having been on the receiving end of Kaguya's version more times than she cared to count.

"Ow!" A girl's protest, indignant and entirely unrepentant. "But I want—"

"Stop whining, that vendor is clearly not selling today, and do not call me that."

Ryuu increased her pace.

-=&&=-

Three rooftops away, Lyra watched the bizarre pursuit unfold through her tinted spectacles.

"They're running," she reported. "Lady Astraea looks like she's having the time of her life."

Alise crouched beside her, jaw set with concentration. Her hands moved in sharp, deliberate gestures—fingers cutting through the air in patterns that bore no resemblance to anything Lyra had encountered in her years of quasi-policing Orario's streets. Thumb over fist. Two fingers pointed at her own eyes. A complicated rotating motion with her wrist that seemed to signify either enemy sighted, I'm hungry, or absolutely nothing at all.

Lyra clocked her on the head. "Use your words," she hissed.

"Ow! That's not in the manual!"

The manual. Lyra's jaw tightened at the thought of it.

After Goddess Athena—Agent Minerva, as she'd forced everyone to call her—had debriefed them on the rooftop behind Arachne's shop, Alise had taken to the role with enthusiasm that bordered on the unhinged. The goddess of wisdom had produced identification cards, code phrases, signal charts, and a surprisingly comprehensive operational manual from somewhere in the back of her shop. Three pages, front and back, in handwriting so cramped and precise it could have passed for printed text. It covered topics ranging from "Maintaining Visual Contact in Crowded Environments" to "Emergency Protocols for Divine Encounter Scenarios" to a section near the end titled simply "Contingencies," which Lyra had stopped reading after the phrase acceptable casualties.

Athena had been waiting for an excuse to deploy this particular hobby. Lyra was certain of it. Centuries of accumulated espionage theory, funnelled into a single afternoon because the goddess of justice wanted to follow a noodle vendor on his day off.

Alise remained silent, arms crossed in what appeared to be a dramatic thinking pose she'd copied directly from one of the illustration cards.

Lyra could only sigh. "007, please communicate. I'm right beside you."

"Agent 133, the Loki Familia is in the area."

A tic pulsed on Lyra's forehead. She had the distinct and unshakeable feeling that Aphrodite had been mocking her when assigning what Athena had described as a "call sign." The goddess of love had leant down—leant down, making a show of the height difference—smiled with saccharine sweetness, and announced: "You'll be Agent 133. It suits you."

The number was her height in celch. Lyra was certain of it. She just couldn't prove it without admitting she knew her exact height, which would only confirm the joke had landed.

She'd lodged a formal protest with Agent Minerva. Athena had considered it for approximately two seconds before ruling that "operational designations, once assigned, are final."

Aphrodite had blown her a kiss from the couch.

"Looks like they're heading towards the designated target." Alise adjusted her spectacles with unnecessary flourish—a two-fingered push at the bridge, chin tilted upward, delivered as though she expected an artist to be sketching her from a dramatic angle.

Lyra wished she could swap places with Neze or Celty, who had been dispatched to locate their remaining Familia members—a task Athena had described, with apparent seriousness, as "converting civilians into assets." The two had also been tasked with ferrying their shopping bags back to Stardust Garden. Neze carried an additional burden: a sealed note for Hermes Familia, with strict instructions that the receiving agent burn it after reading.

Lyra hadn't asked what the note contained. Given that it had been written by the goddess of wisdom and addressed to the god of thieves and messengers, she wasn't certain she wanted to know. The fact that Athena had sealed it with wax and stamped it with a sigil Lyra didn't recognise only deepened her conviction that some intelligence was best left ungathered.

"We should maintain radio silence," Alise said, consulting a folded sheet of paper—the glossary of operational terminology from page two of the manual. She ran her finger down the entries, lips moving slightly. "As we follow."

Lyra opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. The objection died somewhere between formation and delivery—not because it lacked merit, but because experience had taught her that arguing with Alise in this state was like shouting into a Dungeon wall. The sound went in. Nothing came back.

She didn't know what a radio was. She suspected Alise didn't either. But her captain was already moving, fedora clutched to her head with one hand as she leapt from rooftop to rooftop in the direction of the Guild.

The coat billowed behind her. Alise landed on the next building, held her pose for a full beat longer than necessary, then turned and beckoned Lyra forward with two fingers.

She was enjoying this far too much.

Lyra pinched the bridge of her nose, counted to three, and followed.

-=&&=-

Shirou Emiya stood outside the Guild, arms folded, watching the steady flow of adventurers through the great doors. He'd ducked inside briefly to let Sophie and Rose know he'd arrived, but the main hall had been chaos—a group of adventurers crowded round one of the exchange counters, voices raised in righteous indignation over what was clearly a valis dispute.

He'd caught Sophie's eye across the hall. She'd been handling a different queue but had spotted him and waved—a bright, conspicuous wave that had drawn the attention of several nearby adventurers and at least one supervisor. Rose had been buried behind a stack of forms, her wolf ears flattened against her skull in an expression that promised violence against whoever had generated this much paperwork. Shirou had simply gestured for them to take their time and retreated to wait outside.

He knew better than to stand between an adviser and her forms.

The evening air carried the smell of cooking meat from somewhere down the street. A jagamarukun vendor, probably—the potato puffs had become ubiquitous in Orario, though Shirou maintained that the recipe could use variety. Something curry-based, perhaps. A filling with actual spice and depth, instead of the same plain potato every time. He'd been turning over variations in his head for days, which was either the sign of a dedicated craftsman or evidence that he'd been spending too long in Orario’s food industry.

He frowned.

Something felt off about today. Nothing he could identify, nothing his intuition flagged as dangerous—just a persistent itch at the back of his awareness. The kind of sensation that usually preceded one of the more complicated days.

Shirou cast his mind back, trying to isolate the source.

When he'd left his house—mansion, really, though he still struggled to think of it in those terms given that the last time he'd had a fixed living situation was back in Fuyuki; Chaldea didn't count—he'd locked eyes with one of the Astraea Familia members. Stardust Garden sat adjacent to his residence, separated by a narrow gap that both properties' upper windows overlooked. He'd grown accustomed to occasional glimpses of the young women who lived there, usually in passing.

This encounter had been different.

The elf—Celty, if he remembered correctly from Lady Astraea's conversations. The goddess had a habit of speaking fondly about her children whenever she and Shirou crossed paths, and he'd accumulated a reasonable mental catalogue of names and descriptions over the weeks. Celty was one of the quieter ones, according to Astraea. Thoughtful. Observant.

She'd been standing in the street below his window, shopping bags dangling from both hands. Nothing unusual there.

What had been unusual was her outfit.

A long coat that fell past her knees, despite the warm weather. A wide-brimmed hat pulled low over her brow. Dark spectacles—not the corrective kind worn by scholars, but flat opaque lenses that blocked all view of the eyes behind them. The ensemble looked like something from a detective novel, though Shirou couldn't say which one—he'd met the legendary Sherlock Holmes, and despite pop culture, the man hadn't worn a trench coat or a fedora whilst smoking a pipe.

Their eyes had met. Or rather, his eyes had met two circles of dark glass.

Celty had let out a sound that could only be described as an eep—high-pitched, startled, the noise of someone who absolutely did not want to be seen and had just been thoroughly seen.

Shirou had blinked at her.

She'd frozen for a full three seconds, shopping bags swinging gently, before turning on her heel and power-walking round the corner at a pace that stopped just short of an outright sprint.

Odd.

But then again, he'd also passed a shop last week selling what the proprietor had enthusiastically described as "swimwear from the southern isles." The display had included bikinis in colours that didn't exist in nature and something the sign called "banana hammock trunks" that Shirou had elected not to examine closely. Divine knowledge bled into Orario from Tenkai through channels no mortal fully understood, producing everything from elevators to questionable beachwear.

An elf in a detective costume was hardly the strangest result.

He'd shrugged off the encounter with Celty and continued towards the Guild.

But the feeling had lingered. That sense of being watched. Of something building just beyond his peripheral vision.

'Probably nothing.'

A hip bumped against his.

Shirou turned to find Sophie grinning up at him, her Guild uniform replaced by a sundress in pale yellow. Her pale hair was loose around her shoulders rather than pinned up for work, and sandals had replaced her practical shoes. She looked like an entirely different person from the brisk, efficient adviser who'd dressed him down after Rivira.

"Are you excited for our date?" she teased, drawing out the last word with deliberate emphasis.

Shirou glanced at Sophie, then at the empty space beside her, then towards the Guild's entrance.

"Rose is wrapping up," Sophie said, following his gaze. "She'll be out shortly. One of the exchange counters had a calculation error—you know how she gets about numbers being wrong."

"Mm."

He could feel it now. Gazes prickling against the back of his neck.

Shirou didn't need to turn to know that every male elf within eyeshot was staring at him. Sophie had linked her arm through his with casual familiarity—the kind of contact that, between an elf and a human in public, apparently constituted a declaration of war against every unspoken social code the elven community held dear. She was currently describing their evening's itinerary with an enthusiasm that suggested weeks of planning and absolutely no regard for the havoc she was causing.

"—and then we'll head towards the pleasure district. There's this lovely little bar I've been wanting to try, very exclusive, you need a recommendation to get in but I know a girl who knows a girl—"

The glares intensified. A passing elf in merchant's robes actually stopped walking to stare. His companion tugged him onward. He resisted for two full steps before yielding.

"—after that, dinner at the Hostess. Mamma Mia's been asking about you, by the way. Something about your dashi stock recipe—"

A silver-haired elf near the Guild steps directed a stare at Shirou that could have etched glass. Shirou met it with flat indifference. The elf looked away first. They always did.

'I'm just walking,' Shirou thought. 'I am literally standing still and being walked upon.'

"—and then we finish the night with a bang!"

Shirou's attention snapped back to Sophie. "With a what?"

"A bang!" She beamed at him. "You know. The grand finale. The exciting conclusion."

"I don't think—"

Whatever question he'd been about to ask died in his throat.

Rose emerged from the Guild's entrance.

She wore white. A sundress that caught the late afternoon breeze, the fabric light and simple and entirely unlike anything he'd ever seen her wear. Her wolf ears were perked forward, alert, and her golden eyes—the same shade as his own, a coincidence neither of them had ever acknowledged—found his across the distance.

Her face was flushed. Whether from embarrassment or the lingering heat of the day, Shirou couldn't tell.

The intensity of the surrounding glares doubled. Several more adventurers of the nonelven persuasion had now joined the elven contingent. Shirou ignored all of them.

Sophie let out a low whistle and released his arm, darting forward to grab Rose by the elbow. She positioned her friend with practised efficiency, stepping back and striking a pose—one hand on her hip, the other gesturing towards Rose like a merchant presenting premium goods.

"So?" Sophie demanded. "What do you think?"

Rose's flush deepened. Her ears flattened—not in irritation, Shirou realised, but in self-consciousness. She wasn't used to being presented.

He considered his response for approximately half a second before deciding that honesty was, as usual, the simplest approach.

"You both look quite beautiful," he said. "It suits you."

Sophie's smug expression cracked. For a fraction of a second, something unguarded passed across her face—she hadn't expected that. Rose made a small sound, not quite a squeak but close, and her face went from pink to deep crimson. Her ears flattened entirely against her skull, which Shirou had learnt meant either extreme anger or extreme embarrassment.

Given the absence of drawn weapons, he assumed the latter.

Neither of them had been prepared for straightforward sincerity. Shirou wasn't certain why. He'd simply stated an observable fact.

Sophie recovered first, her grin returning at full force. She manoeuvred Rose into position at Shirou's right side, guiding the werewolf's arm through his elbow. Rose complied stiffly, her motor functions apparently operating independently of her higher reasoning, which seemed to have vacated the premises entirely.

"Perfect," Sophie declared, circling round to claim Shirou's left arm. "Now we just need to—"

Something collided with Shirou's shoulder.

He shifted his weight instinctively, absorbing the impact, and turned to find a figure stumbling past him. Long coat. Wide-brimmed hat. Dark spectacles. The figure's shoulder had struck his, and a gloved hand had braced briefly against his collar to steady herself—fingers pressing flat against the fabric for just a moment before pulling away.

"Terribly sorry," the figure said—a woman's voice, pitched low and deliberately muffled beneath her coat collar. "Wasn't watching where I was going. Please excuse me."

She didn't wait for a response. The figure straightened her hat, turned, and ducked into a nearby alleyway. She was gone before Shirou had finished processing the interaction—not panicked, not hurried. Controlled. Purposeful.

Shirou stared after her.

The coat had been purple. The hat had been slightly too large, slipping down over the wearer's forehead. And unless his eyes had deceived him, there had been a glimpse of black hair beneath the brim.

He looked at Sophie. Sophie looked at Rose. Rose looked at Shirou.

"Did that seem—" Rose began.

"Odd?" Sophie finished. "A bit, yeah."

They stood in contemplative silence for a moment.

"Probably nothing," Rose decided.

"Probably," Sophie agreed.

Shirou wasn't convinced. That itch at the back of his awareness had sharpened. The figure's hand against his collar—the contact had been brief, barely a second, but precise. Not clumsy. Not accidental. She'd known exactly where to place her fingers and exactly when to pull away.

'You're overthinking it. She tripped.'

But Sophie was already tugging at his arm, pulling him towards the main thoroughfare. She had scheduled entertainment, and whatever mysteries Orario chose to present were simply going to have to wait their turn.

"Come on, come on! Before it gets crowded and we lose our seats. I am not missing their signature cocktails because we stood around analysing every weird thing that happens in this city."

Rose fell into step on his other side, her earlier embarrassment settling into something more comfortable. "She's been talking about these cocktails for three days," she murmured to Shirou. "I don't think she actually knows what's in them."

"I know there's alcohol," Sophie said without looking back. "That's the important part."

The trio made their way down the street, Sophie setting a brisk pace whilst continuing her running commentary on the evening's destinations. Rose contributed occasional corrections—"That restaurant closed two months ago, Sophie"—whilst Shirou divided his attention between the conversation and the persistent sensation of being observed.

He could feel the stares of every male adventurer they passed. Some were subtle—quick glances, muttered comments to companions. Others were anything but. A dwarf at a street stall dropped his tankard. The ale hit the cobblestones and the man didn't even look down—his eyes were fixed on the spectacle of a human male walking arm-in-arm with an elf and a werewolf as though this were a perfectly normal way to spend a Tuesday evening.

Which, as far as Shirou was concerned, it was.

'Is it really that unusual? Three people walking together?'

Apparently, in Orario, it was.

Sophie revelled in the attention. She walked a fraction closer to Shirou than strictly necessary, her smile serene and absolutely lethal. Rose kept her gaze fixed ahead, her ears twitching in carefully suppressed embarrassment. And Shirou walked between them, wondering—not for the first time in his long and improbable existence—how a simple dinner with colleagues had become this.

He sighed.

He'd hoped for an uneventful evening. A quiet meal. Perhaps some conversation that didn't involve monster slaying or Evilus attacks or the complex logistics of running a food service in a city under siege.

The feeling of being watched hadn't faded. If anything, it had multiplied—a weight against his back that seemed to come from several directions at once.

'Just paranoia. Nothing more.'

His hand drifted absently to his collar. His fingers brushed fabric.

Nothing there. Nothing unusual.

He let his hand drop.

Whatever it was, it could wait until after dinner. He was thankful he'd had the presence of mind to strap a bokken to his hip and a dagger at each ankle before he left.

Just in case.

-=&&=-

End

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