The relationship between Emiya Shirou and Fujimura Raiga was a strange one. They spoke regularly after Shirou became an adult, if not particularly often. Shirou had been raised nearly under Raiga's wing for his later teen years, through the agency of his daughter. It was impossible that Shirou failed to understand that Raiga was the head of the Fujimoto-gumi, the largest Yakuza organized crime group in all of Japan. It was also impossible for him to be ignorant of the regular and varied nature of crimes that the lower echelons of that organization would commit on a daily basis.
Perhaps it was his father's influence, or perhaps it was something else, but Shirou never confronted Raiga directly over the operations of the Group. Every once in a while they'd chat about the state the world was in, or the nature of justice, or other vague topics. Once, after an assassination attempt on Raiga, Shirou visited him in the hospital, one of very few people to be allowed to do so. Raiga took the opportunity to explain to Shirou precisely what would happen if he was to die that day, in gruesome detail. There would be a power struggle, and depending on what external parties got involved, that struggle would be more or less bloody.
The street-level operations would probably have gotten uglier, as a need for cash for improved security would trickle all the way down to the bottom.
Finally, rivals would note the weakness and move in, trampling over anyone they needed to as they grabbed anything they could.
"I am no saint, Shirou, despite what Taiga might think. If I go before I'm ready, Japan's underworld erupts into chaos and this city will be a battlefield. I can't be sure who to trust, and I've been slow to arrange a proper successor for that reason, since my only child is not the type." The old man leaned forward with a grunt. "Shirou, if you ever find yourself involved with other organized crime in your adventures, then make sure you have something ready if you cut the head off of one of those dragons." He chuckled weakly. "I don't doubt I deserve that fate, not for a second, but Japan doesn't deserve the aftermath. The territory of groups like mine rarely does."
He leaned back and coughed, waving away Shirou's concern.
"Remember what I said, boy. If you hold to your ideals as strongly as I think you do, then don't forget! If you cut the head off of a dragon, then you'd damn well be ready for the scavengers! Otherwise, don't bother the dragon at all, lest you provoke more harm than it would have ever done if left unmolested."
Shirou nodded at the time, and the advice merely eased him away from head-on confrontations with most crime groups in lieu of the factors in a given part of the world that caused such groups to thrive. Creation, however, does not tend to dignify 'easing' with a response.
-Coelica, the Frozen-Light Chronicle, seventh soul-progeny of the Unlimited Bladeworks
[*****]
It had been rough going, but Shirou had found another alley relatively sheltered from the wind. It wasn't a particularly cold night, and he'd slept in worse conditions before. Senbrek let him rest in peace, and when daylight returned he was little worse for wear. Now that his "clothes" looked more like what everyone else in the city was wearing he could blend in better and avoid trouble.
Wandering out into the city proper again, he nonchalantly passed by a well-armed guard patrol, glancing at their weapons to get a reading of them. When he didn't get the history of the weapons pouring into his mind, he blinked and shook his head ruefully. Similar to the last time he had tried scanning men on the road, the guards were highlighted to his senses as mundane, mortal, and nonmagical. While not useless information, it didn't tell him anything about how good they were in a fight. One of them looked him in the eyes for a moment, then turned back away and kept walking.
Forgot I still can't use my old tricks.
You're still on about that?
I am used to drawing information from, well, swords. How they are used, the nature of their wielders, that sort of thing. I just look, and I know it all. It's actually really useful.
Huh. Well, let's see. Senbrek tried to approach that idea from the perspective of an infinitely spiteful world-god whose heart beat with radiant green hate-fire. Uhh . . . okay, think about it like this. Imagine a little guy that lives in the sword. He knows everything the sword has ever done, like you were sayin.' Now imagine that when you look at the sword and do this trick, you are actually searing the little guy with eye beams until he talks. You're big, you're important, he's just a schmuck, and you'd literally set him on fire as soon as look at him. And then he talks- fast. Boom, you have the info.
That sounds . . . terribly cruel and over the top.
Kid, you have no idea. Now, I'm not telling you to set anyone on fire, I'm telling you to think about it like that, and see if your new power responds.
Shirou mentally shrugged, and considered the idea. The only person he'd ever encountered with remotely that kind of outlook on things was, well, Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes. Between his brief-yet-intense battle with the aforementioned legend at the climax of the fifth Holy Grail War, and Saber's account of his attitude and bearing during the fourth Holy Grail War, Shirou could more or less summarize Senbrek's suggestion as "Use you power like Gilgamesh would, if the sword was a person instead of an object."
It still felt odd to think about. That kind of role-playing was usually relegated to the b-
No.
No, no, no. Not going to think about that right now.
Fine. The mental gorilla wanted him to pretend to be Gilgamesh inspecting a sword? Then he'd pretend to be Gilgamesh inspecting a sword.
Shirou took a moment to step off of the road proper and sit at a bench, as the pedestrian traffic continued to flow by. He closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths. The occasional trader's cart accented the ambient noise, and idle chatter echoed off the walls of the buildings around him.
He detached himself from his worldly concerns for a bit. He needed aloofness.
Need?
No.
He didn't need aloofness.
He had aloofness.
The exercise slid into place quite easily once he switched a few mental variables around; he just had to reverse his normal attitude completely. Instead of offering help like it was natural, to expect help like it was natural. Instead of taking instruction without hesitation, to give instruction without hesitation.
It kind of helped that Rin and Saber decided it would be fun one day to get him to do this on a lark a couple years back. It had taken him way too long to catch on then, but once he did it had all made sense, then as much as it did now.
He did not move to reach his place in the world, the world moved to accommodate him.
A cart ran over a pothole, and the sudden noise caused him to snap open his eyes and glare in annoyance. Blinking, he realized he had nailed the attitude. Usually he would be deaf to the world when he was this focused; instead he was extra aware. Aware of people.
Aware of flaws.
Emiya Shirou would usually move to assist with or address these flaws himself. But now? Now he was someone else. He had something better to do. Anything and everything that drew his attention from his goal was at best irrelevant, and at worst . . . accountable. Before he could think too much further down that line, another guard patrol passed his bench. He leaned back, dropped his gaze to their sword belts, and imagined.
The 'little guy in the sword.'
The slow witted being that refused him what was his right.
The inferior example of its type that paled in comparison to his old world, his proper place. Unlike there, this one was inferior. Hesitating. Failing to show due deference. Ignorant of its proper place.
The ill-bred mongrel.
As his glare sharpened on the blade, the world seemed to faintly flash green. Then his mind filled with the normal readout he expected to get from a given sword; used by a handful of guards, re-worked at a smith twice, wielded in practice much, wielded in combat little, and used for murder a few times more than that.
No real skill in any of its owners, to speak of.
No attachment to any of them, either. A nameless blade with no history worth knowing, forged with typical methods and materials.
Shirou blinked and shook his head. He had the faintest traces of a headache from the frown and frustration he had played at. Because he was able to mentally achieve 'nothingness' easily, he was also able to place 'something else' there as well. It helped him with his self-hypnosis in magecraft, and it helped him put on an act when he needed to as well. That he just now had to act like one of his least favorite people was a small price to pay, for a few seconds.
Holy crap.
What?
That. What you just did. I don't know what it was, but it was perfect.
Huh?
Do that all the time, and your power will leap to your fingers. Like, after everything you'd been saying I didn't think you had it in you. I'm actually impressed! Looks like you're not as doomed as I thought after all!
Shirou opened his mouth, then closed it. So instead of hypnotizing himself to believe he could bend reality to his will for a bit, he just pretended that reality should bend itself to his will, instead, and this new power reacted. Irony, thy name is Gilgamesh. Or something. Rin would be dying of laughter, just about now.
He considered Gilgamesh's signature pose when opening his Gate of Babylon, drawing forth his arsenal of weapons behind him in mid air. He imagined Archer doing that, and then himself.
The idea had a bitter aftertaste to it.
Only then did Shirou realize Senbrek had still been speaking.
-eep doing that and you can even avoid fights and stuff like you wanted. It's win win!
So Senbrek was selling the idea on the merit of intimidating people to avoid further bloodshed. Considering how well that behavior worked out for the King of Heroes in the end, Shirou was forced to chuckle.
Yeah, thought you'd like that. Now find an isolated spot so you can switch up your looks to something more regal.
Regal? Apparently he had missed more of his mental neighbor's words than he had thought.
[***]
After some back and forth debate, Shirou more or less stonewalled against changing up his appearance more than he already had. He didn't see any benefit, and Senbrek wasn't able to properly express his reasoning.
So, Shirou moved on in the city, noting the complete drabness as an afterthought. Unpainted brickwork graced his vision in every direction, and people weren't wearing anything particularly colorful unless they looked particularly rich. While pondering what sort of tavern or restaurant to apply to for work, he caught a whiff of something nostalgic. Turning almost without breaking stride, he followed the faint yet growing sounds of a hammer and anvil until he found himself at a smithy ensconced in a corner of the city walls.
He stopped in front of the building and took a few moments to watch the smith at work, then crossed his arms and shifted into 'Gil Mode' once more. In the few seconds he maintained it, he analyzed the forge, the anvil, the hammer, the quality of the metal in the sword being made at the moment, the various weapons and tools hanging on display, and the properties of the smoke wafting around the entire smithy. As he released the power from his eyes, he held in a sigh- there were about a thousand things this guy could be doing better, but Shirou had no idea which ones were appropriate for the time period or technology level of this place. That, and the fact that no one would like some guy off the street to just walk in and start telling you how to do your job . . .
Shirou wandered into the shop proper and took a closer look at the blades ready for sale. He was frowning at an axe on the wall when a voice sounded behind him.
"If you need an axe, I can see that one to you at a discount."
Shirou huffed quietly without turning around. "It would have to have a warranty, too, seeing as it will crack in half the moment someone tries to chop a tree with it." He ran his finger down a discolored portion of the metal- he wasn't kidding, the blade was set to snap after a few good swings.
"Oh? I knew it wasn't the best work ever, but I didn't think it was that bad."
Shirou rapped a knuckle on the metal, and listened carefully despite already knowing what he'd hear. "Too much sulfur. A bad batch of coal on a day with no wind, maybe?"
Footsteps shook him out of his half-trance and he realized he'd actually been talking to a person that wasn't Senbrek. Stepping aside and turning, he faced the blacksmith who was now looking up at the axe. The man looked to be middle-age, with smoke-colored hair tied back from a weathered face and arms peppered with the telltale tiny scars of burns from forge sparks.
Without another word, the smith took the axe from the pegs it hung on and walked out of the shop. Shirou followed, and wasn't surprised to see the man take the axe over by what looked like a charcoal burner he had set up for converting wood for fuel. He set up a few logs vertically and split them to no ill effect, then set one log sideways and brought the axe down in a more traditional tree-felling strike.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice, and metal cracked.
"Huh."
He picked up the remains of the blade and a few pieces of the bad iron and carried them over to the smelter, where he tossed them into the scrap iron bin. Turning back to Shirou, he nodded.
"You just saved my reputation a hit. I knew the price I got on that load of coal was too good to be true; it's why I usually prepare my own charcoal. Still, when business picks up I need fuel faster than I can process wood. I didn't think the metal would be affected that much, though. How could you tell?"
Shirou pondered how to answer that one, then figured a version of the truth would work. "You could say I've always been a bit gifted with metalwork. You can read a lot from the grain and color if your eyes can pick out the finer details. I'm mostly a connoisseur though, I haven't done much hands-on work myself."
"Oh? Then would you mind humoring an old man for a bit?"
And so Shirou gave a slightly censored analysis of each blade on display, rating quality and the likely conditions of the smithy at the time. He avoided going into the details that were impossible to know without magic or microscopes. When his deductions about the forge's conditions kept being spot-on for the unusual days the smith could remember, the man nodded to himself and asked the question Shirou had been hoping and dreading to hear.
"Care to try your hand at something? I have no current commissions and I'm interested in seeing how you do."
Shirou's stomach did a bit of a flip. He knew forgework. Knew it on a level that few other ever could. It's just something he had never actually done mundanely in his life. All of his blades were made inside Unlimited Blade Works via his magecraft- he had never picked up a forge hammer in his life. He much preferred picking up a knife and preparing a meal.
Still, the old man had no ulterior motive in his gaze- he was curious, and there was a spark of something else there, too. He had caught the scent of something new. A true craftsman never tired of finding fresh things to learn about his art, after all.
Shirou was not comfortable with the idea of playing blacksmith when his primary concerns involved getting food and a place to sleep. He definitely didn't want to get involved in a trade where most of his experience involved blatant magic. It would be incredibly hard to hide it. He tried to find a way out, and had an idea. He straightened up, crossed his arms over his chest once more, and glared over the smithy, letting his new persona wash over him. All he had to do was make this guy not want to spend another second near him. Act like a jerk, walk away, and let this moment pass. Right.
"If I were to indulge, I would be free to temporarily alter the workshop without question. I'd be accounting for factors you might not be familiar with, and would not brook constant requests for explanations while I worked."
There. Now he'll be politely or rudely asked to leave, and he can get back to-
"Deal. As long as I get to watch and ask questions after you're done, do whatever you want."
-looking for work.
Well. Damn.
Senbrek finally took the opportunity to toss in his two cents.
You've got him wrapped around your finger, boss.
Shirou didn't have the energy to claim otherwise, and just silently stepped forward to start correcting some of the more simple flaws in the smithy he could rapidly affect.
[***]
Stoic Thundercloud watched as the odd young man set to work tweaking his forge. While usually he'd never be this open to a stranger, the young man knew steel. Knew it in ways that Thundercloud didn't, clear as day. The chance to learn something about his art from another got rarer and rarer as the years passed; one can only excel so far at any craft without being gifted with divine blood or outright Exaltation, after all.
The old smith answered a few queries about where he kept various implements and things. He apparently was missing a few chemicals or solutions the newcomer was hoping to use, but he assured that it was no large matter. The big thing was apparently the type of coal in the furnace, and the airflow around the entire smithy, as had been alluded to before. Finally, the younger man started pawing through the charcoal stores, picking some bricks and rejecting others until he had a fairly large pile of 'good' coal.
He then took a very large portion of 'bad' coal and started filling the furnace.
A very large portion.
When yellow-hot metal began to turn white-hot, Thundercloud bit his tongue. He wanted to ask, but he was a man of his word. The red-haired man began picking through the scrap bin, taking some odd bits here and there and tossing them into the smelter. However, the man obliged.
"Your equipment is primarily designed to melt down existing scrap metal and ingots for immediate re-use. However, with a few tweaks, more purification can be done. Not as much as with a properly built smelter and crucible for that purpose, but a decent amount more than what you had. I'm cleaning your equipment now, feeding in just enough fresh iron to stick to some of the the contaminants on the sides and draw it out. I'll need to repeat the process with copper and a few other materials before I'd call it totally clean, but once it is we'll have a much better consistency for our raw metal later."
Apparently he knew certain thaumaturgical processes for purification and maintenance that Thundercloud didn't. He had been curious about why some of the traditional steps had been neglected at the beginning, but now noted that the various procedures had been accounted for by non-thaumaturgical means instead. Thundercloud began to consider the ramifications of a technique that combined what each man didn't already know, then wondered how many talents of jade they might earn together as a result . . .
[***]
Senbrek, for his part, was bored- but not in a bad way. This was the kind of bored where he could afford to relax and not worry, as opposed to the kind of bored that meant something needed to die. Shirou was, as the instructions explained, beginning to build a power base- which was just fancy talk for getting minions. Senbrek wouldn't have used crafting skill to impress anyone, himself, but then again that's not where his talents lie. If Shirou could put his skills to work arming minions with decent gear, that was all well and good- but only as long as he kept the best gear for himself.
Can't let any minions get uppity. That's just bad business.
The blood ape quietly parsed through his recently granted mental index of demonic subspecies to see if he could find one that would be of particular use to Shirou at this juncture. Getting his host to actually invoke the services of first circles would be trouble, probably, but it was trouble he was willing to face. Now, this sorcery initiation business was a bit beyond him, but he could at least explain it.
Or try to, at least.
He mentally shoved aside the dangerously heretical thought that he wasn't the ideal candidate for this job. The fact that he even had the idea in the first place was unexpected. He knew his role, and he stuck to it- which is why he had lived as long as he did. It might not have been the most exciting gig in the world, but it was a damn sight better than what he had expected to happen after that last, disastrous affair in his alley before he was selected by Ligier Himself to be a Coadjutor.
The ape shuddered at the memory, recalling those few blissful moments of ripping the final intruder to his alley he ever confronted limb from limb before he got a good look at them- a good look that revealed he had just (temporarily) murdered a proper Citizen of Malfeas. A trespassing citizen, to be sure, but an act that he as a mere serf had no right to commit. He should have petitioned to Sondok immediately, or even asked the intruder politely to leave.
Well, more politely than he had. He HAD asked, after all. Just, not in an appropriate way, given the circumstances revealed in hindsight.
The bastard just had to be smart and refuse to declare himself as a Second Circle when confronted. Typical.
He turned his attention back to what Shirou was doing, and enjoyed the scorching heat of the furnace secondhand. It was almost like some of the shops back home.
For the time being, he decided he'd let Shirou progress in peace. There's be better opportunities to goad him towards heading back to the City later. Hopefully after he had the supplies for a five-plus day desert trek on hand. He shared all of Shirou's senses now, and that included pain and hunger. It was bad enough making the trip in his own body, but experiencing it in his new Boss's frailer frame was not something he was looking forward to. Not one bit.
Speaking of hunger, Shirou's stomach growled as if on cue. The man gave no sign of acknowledging such, however.
Well, guess a prod wouldn't hurt . . .
[***]
Shirou finished another pour of 'contaminated' metal from the smelter and wiped his brow. As much as he'd had his supernatural knowledge of forgework, it was a completely different experience actually going through the motions in real life. He considered what the most efficient way to finish up the decontamination would be, but before he came to a conclusion Sebrek spoke up.
Boss. You should eat something.
Shirou blinked. He was suddenly reminded of home, and Saber's appetite. He wouldn't have eaten nearly as much over the years if it wasn't for her and Rin's clockwork demand for regular filling meals. Still, since they weren't here, and he wasn't suffering for it . . .
I'll eat when I'm finished here, Senbrek.
There was a pause, which was unusual for the mental ape. Usually he had a snappier sense of response timing. A few moments later, it came.
I, uh . . . the gorilla hesitated, crap. Boss. I'm piggybacking in your head, right? I see out your eyes, hear out your ears. I also feel your hunger. And there's nothin' I can do about that, even if you can shrug off a meal. Another bit of silence. It sucks.
Shirou's eyes had widened at 'feel' and were fully wide open at 'hunger.' He hadn't thought his passenger's situation all the way through. Taking a moment to focus on it, he really was feeling a stab of hunger. He hadn't eaten since before the fight and experimenting with all of his powers. If Senbrek was also feeling that stab, and didn't even have some hard labor to do to distract him from it . . .
"Time for a break," he said for the old smith's benefit. "If you anything to eat, I'll work for the value after I finish up what I'm doing here. Otherwise I'll need to find some odd jobs to earn some money for today's meals."
The smith waved that idea away without hesitation.
"Forget that. We'll eat, on me. While we eat, I want to talk thaumaturgy."
Shirou blinked at the casually dropped name of his home world's supernatural studies, but managed to not look too shocked as he followed the older man out of the smithy to a free lunch.
