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Emiya Shirou Doesn't Want to Work Overtime [244]
🕑 Added 2025-11-11 14:51:19 +0000 UTC“That brat is definitely not your average human…”
Leaning against a nearby wall stood a tall man with platinum-blonde hair slicked neatly back, clad in a dark suit and sunglasses. A cigarette burned at his lips, releasing murky rings of purple smoke spiraling upward lazily.
He watched the unfolding battle before him with marked interest.
“When will I finally get my hands on Nietono no Shana? I want to hold that blade right now, to feel it, to savor its coldness.”
“Please be patient, Brother. Soon enough—very soon—we'll find the Flame-Haired Burning-Eyed Hunter.”
A blonde, handsome youth in a crisp suit stood beside him, his voice heavy with impatience. Unlike the man with the cigarette, the youth held no interest in the ongoing fight. In fact, if it weren't for the sweet, doll-like gothic lolita beauty pressed tightly against him, he would have left long ago.
“Mm—!”
As if to soothe his complaints, the petite blonde girl leaned forward without hesitation, passionately locking lips with the youth.
They didn't seem to care that a middle-aged man stood smoking just steps away.
Not that the smoking man minded, either—he appeared entirely accustomed to their brazen public displays of affection.
In the end, his job was merely to act as their bodyguard anyway.
“No wonder you paid such a high price to hire the Destructive Blade against this human. To see a human who can actually hold his own against a Crimson Lord… It’s rare. No—this is the very first time I’ve seen someone exchange blows evenly with the Destructive Blade.”
“He's even been recognized by one of the top five Crimson Lords in recent history—indeed, he's no ordinary person.”
The tall man blew out another ring of smoke, casually teasing Friagne, who stood nearby having just recovered using Power of Existence.
Friagne didn’t respond to the man’s remarks. As a Crimson Lord, his own strength naturally met the required standard. It wasn’t because of his many Treasure Tools that he had become a Crimson Lord—it was precisely because he was a Crimson Lord that he could acquire those treasures in the first place.
Yet compared to the man beside him—or to the fearsome Destructive Blade he'd hired—Friagne's strength could only be described as weak. Using Alastor’s own words, those two were among the top five strongest Crimson Lords of the modern era.
But they were merely modern-era Lords. Compared to the ancient Crimson Lords who'd lived through countless millennia, Friagne was utterly insignificant.
Despite feeling deeply dissatisfied, Friagne refused to waste words arguing—after all, his heart was fully consumed by the one he loved most.
What did it matter if he paid a heavy price? As long as he accomplished his goal, he'd gladly pay any price necessary.
This is love.
This was the depth of his devotion toward his beloved.
BOOM—!
A massive explosion erupted in the air before them, unleashing a storm of dark-red flames that surged violently outward like a tsunami. Countless blades spun within the fiery vortex, spiraling like a tornado, incinerating every trace of air around them.
The sheer scale of that wave of flames defied comprehension.
In just an instant, it completely enveloped the armored human.
Countless swords, carrying terrifying flames, churned mercilessly inward, like a grinding machine leaving no space for resistance.
Such an attack’s deadliness lay not just in its blades, but even more so in the flames capable of reducing a body to ashes with the slightest touch—as merciless as molten magma.
Buildings around the armored figure crumbled under the crushing blaze, their debris raining toward the ground below.
Amid the flying rubble and chaos, immobilized humans dissolved into streams of fading Power of Existence.
From the billowing smoke emerged a tall, grim figure wrapped in a cloak, face concealed beneath a scarf, carrying twin blades. His long, straight hair framed a body that radiated deathly stillness.
Judging by his torn garments, the human had clearly inflicted substantial damage on him.
He was now dust-covered, looking even more ominous and grim than usual.
“For someone to injure the Destructive Blade this severely—even I can't help but desire the treasures this human wields.”
The smoking man’s expression held genuine surprise as he observed the Destructive Blade—Sabrac—emerge disheveled from the smoke. Sabrac’s power was considered top-tier among Crimson Lords active in the human world.
Even he himself couldn’t guarantee victory against Sabrac. Yet, this human had fought evenly with such a powerful Crimson Lord—and had even wounded him.
How could any Crimson Lord not lust after the treasures he must carry?
To elevate a mere human to the level of challenging and even harming Sabrac—such a treasure was, by all measures, peerless.
They could scarcely imagine how terrifying that treasure might become if wielded by a Crimson Lord.
No Crimson Lord could imagine a mere human possessing innate strength equal to their own. To them, humans were livestock—mere vessels for harvesting Power of Existence, a readily available food source unable to resist.
Only Flame Hazes warranted their caution.
...
BOOM——!
As the fiery vortex filled with blades contracted to its climax, a tremendous blast resounded in midair.
A figure plunged from the thick smoke, barely managing to regain his balance upon landing on the devastated street. He gasped heavily, his armor crumbling and falling away piece by piece.
Standing there, battered and disheveled, was a red-haired youth draped in a crimson cloak. His gaze met the Crimson Lords without a shred of fear—only absolute resolve.
From above, a cluster of scarlet flames cascaded downward, set to consume the red-haired youth—but he stood motionless, entirely unbothered by the impending annihilation.
Clink—!
A brilliant blue glow erupted from Shirou Emiya’s raised finger. At the instant the flames touched him, they dissipated into nothingness.
“[Azure]!”
“How… When did he—!”
The smoking man’s expression twisted sharply with shock as he turned toward Friagne, whose own face had contorted in confusion. Friagne hastily glanced down at his right hand.
There, perfectly intact, was the ring—completely identical to the one now worn by the red-haired boy before them.
Friagne hadn’t been robbed of his treasure.
“How can there possibly be two identical Treasure Tools in this world?”
Both the smoking man and Friagne lost their composure, a deep unease rising within them. This human, it seemed, concealed secrets even deeper and more disturbing than they had imagined.
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T/N: no friggin way they jumoed by boy emiya offscreen
This is a fan translation of 卫宫士郎不想加班 by 此世无存. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
