"Am I… dead?"
In a haze, golden light—warm and radiant—forced Emiya Shirou's eyes open.
Every nerve in his body throbbed with dull, persistent pain, as though each cell was still protesting the torment it had endured.
"Does even the afterlife hurt this much?"
Shirou pushed himself up from the floor with difficulty.
His body ached to the marrow. Every movement felt like it was being resisted from within. Even just sitting up drained the last bit of strength from him.
"I'm… not dead?"
He stared at the battered, scarred remains of the inn. Craters in the floor, slashes in the walls—evidence of the brutal battle that had taken place.
He remembered clearly: at that moment, he'd lost all awareness, all ability to fight back. Just one swipe from that monster should have ended him.
But reality said otherwise.
He glanced down at his stomach, where the monster's arm had once impaled him. That gaping wound was gone—as if it had never existed.
The minor wounds, though, remained. Lacerations still covered his body, soaked with dried blood. They weren't bleeding anymore, but they stung with every breath.
And the creature's body was gone.
Had it not been for the setting—the carnage-stained inn, the dried river of blood, the dull throb of his bruised and swollen limbs—Shirou might have doubted he fought a monster at all.
"Doesn't seem like anyone saved me either…"
He reached for the katana beside him and drove it into the wooden floor, using it like a cane to support himself as he rose to his feet.
Sunlight streamed through the trees outside, flooding the front lobby of the inn with golden warmth.
He had never felt so grateful to see sunlight.
"Cough! Cough!"
Shirou doubled over, hacking dryly. Maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off—maybe it was the reality sinking in—but as he looked over the bloodied floors of the inn, he no longer felt the same visceral revulsion as the night before.
The nausea was still there, but dulled.
"If only I'd gotten here sooner…"
The thought weighed heavily in his chest.
Maybe—just maybe—if he'd arrived earlier, those people wouldn't have been slaughtered.
Maybe he'd have died with them, unnoticed, another nameless victim.
But maybe… he could've done something.
There was no way to know.
Despite the ache in his muscles, Shirou made his way to the inn's storeroom.
"People need a resting place, after all. Better I bury them than leave their bodies out for wild beasts."
He moved slowly but steadily, digging graves beside the inn with his battered frame.
It was a simple act—but one he could manage.
He only dug a single large pit, and gently placed every fragmented body inside.
Most of the corpses weren't whole. Many were reduced to bones and limbs.
Shirou had no formal knowledge of anatomy. He couldn't tell which remains belonged to whom. He simply gathered everything and laid them to rest.
"Guess I should clean the inn too."
Though utterly exhausted, Shirou didn't stop to rest. The stench inside had become overwhelming.
The inn itself was largely intact—most of the damage and blood was confined to the front lobby.
If he cleaned it up, it could at least serve as a refuge for any traveler who got lost in the woods. A shelter free from beasts and monsters.
As he scrubbed the floors, Shirou started thinking about what came next.
His injuries were severe—while not immediately visible, they limited his movement.
He didn't know if more monsters like that were waiting outside.
He had to let his body recover first—recover enough to defend himself if necessary.
And there was still the question of the door that had brought him here. Could it reopen? Could he go back?
He had no way to know.
But there was one thing he could be reasonably sure of.
That monster spoke Japanese.
So wherever he was, it was probably still within Japan. Unless this was some bizarre "anime logic" world where everything defaulted to Japanese, the creature's speech implied they were still on Earth.
Maybe he hadn't been thrown into another world.
Maybe he was just somewhere deep in Japan's uninhabited wilderness.
If that was true, once he recovered, he could make his way back to Fuyuki.
But for now, rest. Heal. Then plan.
"I just hope… that thing is really dead."
Shirou had never seen its corpse. He couldn't be sure it had died.
Even when sliced in two, the thing had kept moving.
It had healed rapidly. Even limbs that were severed seemed to regenerate almost instantly.
Shirou couldn't understand how he'd survived.
He could only be thankful that he had.
After cleaning the inn, Shirou found a set of clothes that roughly fit.
He went to the river to wash the blood from his body, then searched the inn for medical supplies and clean bandages.
He'd injured himself enough times training to know how to treat his wounds.
Near the inn's entrance, he found another katana.
It was plain, just like the others.
"Guess I'll take both."
There was no point leaving one behind. It wasn't like he had other weapons.
If he encountered another creature like that, and his sword broke mid-battle… then he really would be defenseless.
There were plenty of tree branches in the forest, sure. But even reinforced with magecraft, they were no match for monsters like that.
Better to be prepared.
Two blades were safer than one.