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IBHJ 1378
🕑 Added 2025-06-20 01:38:59 +0000 UTCFor as long as anyone remembered, the Golden Universe had ruled the stars.
Its supremacy was an axiom—undisputed, undeniable.
But now, that truth was unraveling…
…because of one starship.
"Where did it come from!?" the commander roared, voice cracking through the bridge like a whip.
No one answered. There was no answer.
All they could do was watch as the silver Tiamat ship twisted through their formation like a needle through silk—then vanished into the void, untouched.
The commander stared at the receding vessel, despair flickering in his eyes.
If the Emperor heard of this…
If he was branded weak…
Then he would be nothing.
Dust.
Erased from existence by the very system he had served.
Damn it.
—
On the other side of the stars, Shirou leaned back in his cockpit throne, a small, self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
"Not bad. My technique’s sharper than I thought."
He exhaled, letting the tension finally bleed from his shoulders. "Maybe I should take a little tour of the universe now and then."
For the first time since leaving Earth, he felt it.
Not just the thrill of survival—but confidence.
The cosmos didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore.
And then—
[M-Master! This is bad! R-really bad! My fuel—it's almost completely gone!]
The smile froze on his face.
"...What?"
He sat up straight.
"You said we had a quarter tank left!"
[We did—if this were a normal trip! But this universe’s environment is incompatible with my material structure! And that… shadow creature earlier? It ruptured my primary energy reservoir. The tank’s leaking, and the loss is accelerating!]
Shirou’s jaw dropped.
"And you’re just telling me this now?!"
[It was fine a moment ago! But after Master’s, um… miracle maneuvers, the crack widened!]
"...You’ve got to be kidding me."
He slumped forward, face buried in his hands.
Of course.
Of course.
This was the price of his legendary E-rank Luck.
Given the situation, he made a conscious effort not to explode at Chibi Tiamat.
Because if he said what he wanted to say, he was ninety percent certain that the adult Tiamat—when they returned to the present world—would pin him down and beat him until his soul leaked out of his ears.
So instead of shouting, he took a deep breath and asked through gritted teeth:
“How much energy do we have left?”
[Mmm… Just enough for straight-line travel across approximately three thousand light-years!]
Shirou froze.
His fingers twitched on the console.
Three thousand light-years.
In the context of modern Earth civilization, that was beyond impossible. Even a single light-year of travel was the realm of divine mysticism—something only achievable in the Age of Gods, and even then, only under ideal conditions with a heavy cost.
But in this era?
Against the Golden Universe?
Three thousand light-years was a joke.
The equivalent of crawling fifty meters while a battalion of star-hungry wolves bore down on you with guns, missiles, and unrelenting intent to kill.
From another part of space, the Golden commander was practically giddy. His voice boomed through the bridge like festival drums.
“Its speed is dropping! The ship’s structure can’t adapt to our universe’s conditions! Excellent! Prepare to strike—capture or destroy it!”
“Yes, Commander!”
The golden fleet moved as one, converging like a collapsing net.
Dozens of warships turned and locked on. The stars themselves seemed to narrow around Shirou’s silver ship.
Shirou tightened his grip on the controls, eyes sharpening.
Three thousand light-years.
Not enough to escape.
Not enough to win.
But maybe—just maybe…
"I expected this much."
His mental focus snapped into place, binding with the Tiamat starship at a soul-deep level. Circuits lit up across the interface as he synchronized with the ship’s core systems. Armament control panels bloomed open like petals.
Every remaining drop of True Ether in the starship surged, gathering at the cannon ports like a tide pulled by gravity.
[W-Wait, Master! D-Deploying the cannons will consume even more energy! If you fire three star-destroying class ether rounds, your remaining fuel will be completely depleted! I-I implore you to reconsider!]
Chibi Tiamat’s voice trembled in his ears.
But Shirou didn’t answer immediately. His gaze was fixed on the endless black ahead, on the golden warships closing in like predators.
Compared to the frantic, stammering cries of Chibi Tiamat, Shirou’s voice remained unnervingly calm.
"You don’t seriously think we can escape from an entire fleet of technically superior warships without taking some risks, do you?"
[B-But Master, this is suicide! According to my calculations, if we only attempt evasion, our success probability is 0.0001%! But if you fire the cannons—we’ll lose even that!]
"Then stop whining."
Shirou’s voice sharpened. "If your system can’t see a path forward, then I’ll show you the one I see!"
With a shout, his hands moved across the console—
—and two star-destroying ether cannons discharged in front of the ship, hurtling forward like divine meteors.
[NO—!]
Chibi Tiamat wailed as the beams tore through the void, lighting up the battlefield like twin suns.
But the golden fleet had already calculated their trajectory. The vessels shifted in perfect formation, sidestepping the blasts.
"Has the pilot gone mad?"
"No," the commander muttered, watching the beams dissipate into the dark.
He exhaled, relieved. "Their firepower doesn’t surpass ours. That confirms it—their advantage is limited to piloting computations, not system supremacy."
Because if it had been system supremacy…
If a civilization had truly emerged that could create starships stronger than theirs…
That would shake the very foundations of the Golden Universe.
And their status as galactic hegemons would be over.
"No structural superiority, just superior control? Hmph. Capture it."
The golden warships surged forward like a tidal wave of wolves.
Inside the Tiamat, red warnings flashed across every screen.
[Energy critical—energy critical—estimated depletion imminent! W-We’re doomed! I told you not to use the cannons! Now we’re going to die, it’s all your fault! WAAAH! I don’t want to be scrapped!]
"So noisy!"
Shirou’s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around the controls.
"Shut up and brace. It’s coming."
[What’s coming? …W-Wait. What is this!?]
Her voice caught, a note of fear creeping into her digital tone.
[Radar reaction… dimensional turbulence… I-I’m detecting a spacetime tremor… but it doesn’t make sense—what is this?]
They weren’t alone in their confusion.
The golden warships halted mid-charge. All of them.
The background of space—the cosmic field itself—began to ripple.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Like paint bleeding from a broken canvas, spacetime peeled away in viscous streaks from unseen walls.
[Wh-What is this?]
Chibi Tiamat’s voice dropped to a whisper.
[Master, I-I… I don’t like this.]
Beads of sweat formed on Shirou’s brow.
"I don’t know," he admitted.
[What do you mean you don’t know!? What did you do!?]
Shirou kept his eyes fixed on the shifting void.
"I just…" He exhaled slowly. "…cut open a massive death line."
—
Charging straight into the enemy formation wasn’t a death wish. Not for Shirou.
He wasn’t like those mad warriors who believed in dying gloriously for some ideal.
He didn’t gamble with his life.
He calculated. He chose.
He saw.
That’s why he didn’t leave the controls to Chibi Tiamat—
Because he had seen something she couldn’t.
Thanks to Shiki’s Root Connection, he could see the Root’s vision.
Every golden warship had a death line—a fate thread stretching back to their origin. Shirou could have fought back, severing them one by one, erasing them from reality itself.
But the fleet was too large.
They would drag him into death with them.
And so, as despair crept in—he looked deeper.
And that’s when he saw it.
A root line so massive, it dwarfed the rest like a galaxy beside candlelight.
A line connected to something he couldn’t describe.
Something alive.
Something ancient.
Something terrifying.
He didn’t know what it was.
But he knew one thing:
When that being emerged…
This battlefield would never be the same.
So Shirou aimed the starship toward the heart of the golden fleet—
not to flee—
but to light a match beside a powder keg.
