Chapter 325: Scheherazade Appears
The Jungle Witch's curse was highly effective; the moment he stepped into the cage, the exit was automatically sealed. Row after row of thin black iron bars rose at the entrance, arranged neatly from left to right, with gaps so narrow one could only stick a palm through sideways.
Each thin iron bar was a single, solid piece, as if a door had never existed there in the first place.
Faced with these bars, Shirou released his magical energy to its maximum and used every ounce of his physical strength, yet he could not budge the cage in the slightest.
Shirou projected the Holy Sword Durandal, which turned into a streak of silver light as it slashed down toward the bars. However, when the blade touched the iron, it passed right through, as if a human were touching a ghost.
Yet, when he tried to touch that same spot with his hand, it became solid iron once more.
Shirou once again projected the golden Caliburn. Magical energy surged, and a golden linear light-cannon blasted toward the right side of the cage, but it, too, passed straight through.
"Damn it!" Shirou hammered his fist against the iron bars, producing a piercing metallic ring.
"Ugh..." The red-haired girl lying on the stone bed let out a low groan, jolted awake by the pain.
Sita had sustained considerably heavy injuries. Her face, hands, and body were covered in bruises and severe abrasions; her body looked as though it had been struck by something massive, and it was impossible to tell how many bones she had broken. It was only because she possessed a body on the level of a Heroic Spirit that she had managed to survive at all.
Shirou remained silent as he projected a Shroud of St. Martin possessing healing properties to wrap the girl's wounds.
"Sorry... Shirou, I dragged you into this," Sita said weakly.
Shirou shook his head. "It's fine, Sita. This isn't your fault. Besides, the Witch doesn't seem to intend to harm me. Try to sleep for a while."
"Thank you..." Sita was truly exhausted and quickly drifted back into a deep sleep.
Shirou watched the red-haired girl until he heard her faint, steady breathing, which finally allowed him to relax.
The youth scanned his surroundings. He could see the iron bars, and beyond them was a faint darkness. Only a single tiny window offered a view of the pitch-black exterior. Aside from the girl's breathing, not a single sound could be heard.
The Jungle Witch's words surfaced in his heart once again.
Shirou clenched his fists, glaring into the empty darkness with growing agitation, before finally sitting cross-legged on the floor in dejection.
The reason he was so angry was perhaps because the Witch had hit the mark with her words. It was precisely because he didn't want to admit it that he felt such rage. Shirou lowered his voice, speaking with resentment—mostly directed at himself.
"What do you mean, 'I'm destined to either be absorbed by God or be destroyed!' Stop cursing other people's futures!"
"And what do you mean, 'I should just stay here, and none of the blame lies with me!' Am I supposed to thank you for locking me up?"
"The future 'me' won't become a person like that God!"
Judging by the Witch's tone, she wasn't lying to him. It seemed that due to his connection with the White God, he would be extremely long-lived. And that Witch seemed to want to keep him in this cage forever.
I have to find a way out, Shirou thought.
Shirou calmed himself and pulled out the scissors he had obtained from the Jungle Witch. As long as he held the scissors, he could see lines of different colors and shapes, which seemed to represent various meanings.
Between him and Sita, there was a pale blue line, likely representing friendship. There was also a harsh red line intertwined with messy black filaments that passed through the cage, seemingly representing the girl's cursed love.
This was a tool capable of severing the lines of fate between people. The Jungle Witch had used this very tool to cut the connection between him and the version of himself that had become a God.
After an unknown amount of time, the crescent moon could be seen hanging high outside the window; it was already late at night. At that moment, a blurry dark shadow appeared in the space outside the dungeon. By the moonlight, one could see it was the silhouette of a curvaceous woman. She carried a tray holding two plates of bread, two bowls of meat broth, and some cheese.
"I thought things felt strange here from the start. So it was you working behind the scenes! Scheherazade!" Shirou recognized the bronze-skinned woman who had suddenly appeared. Only Author-type Heroic Spirits like her could influence the Saint Graphs of Servants and the structure of the world in such a way.
"I wouldn't call it 'working behind the scenes'; I am merely fulfilling the task assigned to me by the Witch. This is dinner; please eat while we talk," Scheherazade said.
"You didn't come here just to deliver food, did you? Is that part of the task too? You don't seem like the type to obediently follow a Master's orders," Shirou said indifferently.
"Mmm, I won't deny that. As long as I can survive, I will do anything, regardless of whom I serve," the bronze-skinned woman said, making no effort to hide her principles.
"Then, since you're helping the Witch keep watch over me, why are you helping me now? What could someone as trapped as I am possibly do for you?" Shirou asked, looking at the woman with dark bronze skin.
The woman replied, "Currently, the Witch and Charlemagne have the upper hand. However, I still hope to help you find a way out. Regardless of what happens, you will eventually meet the White God. Your connection to Him is not something a pair of Demon God scissors can completely sever. I hope that when that time comes, you can grant my wish."
"A wish?" Shirou looked at the woman in surprise.
Scheherazade continued unhurriedly:
"Ultimately, my goal is different from the Jungle Witch's. Although I don't disagree with her thoughts—after all, you were originally Emiya Shirou, so you must have had thoughts similar to that God's, right?"
Operating in the background, Scheherazade wasn't exactly subservient to the Jungle Witch; they were simply pursuing their respective wishes and happened to be able to achieve them through the same process.
Because her wish from the beginning was simply to never experience the fear of death again. The White God had cut off the Counter Force and negated the Throne of Heroes. If He succeeded in changing all worlds, then her wish to escape the Throne of Heroes would be fulfilled.
However, rather than trapping Shirou with the Jungle Witch, it would be more efficient to negotiate directly with the God. If she followed the Witch's plan, she might lose her usefulness and be disposed of before her goal was reached.
A useless familiar only wastes magical energy; Scheherazade did not believe the Jungle Witch would let her stay. Once the supply of magical energy was cut, she would have no choice but to vanish, having no further connection to this world, while her true body on the Throne of Heroes would still find no release.
"Anything but death! I absolutely refuse!" Scheherazade said with finality.
"But, speaking of death, you're a Heroic Spirit, aren't you? You've already died," Shirou said.
"That is exactly why I don't want to die a second time!" Scheherazade said, her body trembling.
"So, you are helping me just so you can survive?" Shirou asked.
Scheherazade shook her head. "It's not just that. Have you ever felt disappointed in humanity, or felt dissatisfied with society as a whole? Thinking things like, 'The rules of the current world really are wrong, they must be changed,' or 'The existence of the Counter Force and the Throne of Heroes only brings misfortune'?"
Shirou replied, "No. Although I don't like the cold mechanism of the Guardians, and there may be those in the Throne of Heroes who don't wish to exist, many of the Heroic Spirits I know hold onto hope despite it. And other versions of me in different worlds have been summoned as Heroic Spirits; I have never regretted the encounters I had with those people."
"Is that so... But you were just feeling pain and confusion, weren't you? I saw it. It's precisely because of those encounters that you've begun to fear death. No one understands the fear of death better than I do. Justice? Emotions? These are all burdens to me. I thought everything would end eventually, but after I died, I became a Heroic Spirit. The Throne of Heroes is truly a redundant nuisance! The greatest burden! Eternal life is the greatest agony!" Scheherazade said.
"..." Shirou looked at the woman, not expecting her to be such an existence.
In legend, she was a noble woman and the narrator of the Arabian Nights, or One Thousand and One Nights. Stories like Aladdin and the Magic Lamp, Sinbad the Sailor, and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves all came from her mouth before being recorded and passed down to posterity.
She told these stories not as literary works like Andersen, nor as folk tales collected for academic research like the Brothers Grimm; she did it purely to stay alive.
Legend has it that in a place bordering China and India, there was a kingdom called Sassan. The King there, Shahryar, was cruel and jealous by nature. After discovering his Queen's infidelity and killing her, he grew to hate all women.
After that, the King would marry a young maiden every day and kill her at sunrise the next day as an act of revenge.
The Vizier's daughter, Scheherazade, was the bronze-skinned woman standing before him. To save other innocent women, she volunteered to marry the King. She used the method of storytelling to captivate him, stopping each night just as the story reached its most exciting point.
When dawn broke, the King wanted to know the rest of the story, so he did not kill her, allowing her to continue the next night. Thus, Scheherazade told her stories for one thousand and one nights until the King was finally moved. They grew old together and lived a happy life.
This is an ending similar to the children's versions of Snow White or Cinderella, but in reality, it wasn't quite like that.
The earliest discovered manuscripts of One Thousand and One Nights date back to between the 8th and 9th centuries. These were folk tales collected and compiled during the height of the Abbasid Empire.
They were filled with the atmosphere of Arab life and romantic idealism. They contained everything imaginable: the desire to expand territory, the adventurous spirit of seeking
treasure, and merchants who would risk traveling across deserts or crossing seas by ship just to trade with China.
There was the heroism of fighting bandits, but also the exploitation by the upper classes and the destitute lives of the impoverished. Because of this, Maxim Gorky called it the "most magnificent monument of folk literature."
The stories within mostly took place in Central Asia, the Indian subcontinent, and Egypt in Africa, spanning from the era of the Persian Empire to the era of the Abbasid Empire. It covered the entire scope of the Arab Empire from its founding to its rise, and the vibrant colors of Islamic culture within were indelible.
Scheherazade was born in the land of Sassan, which was also an Islamic nation.
Although the Prophet Muhammad advocated for people to honor their mothers, wives were often looked down upon. In the home, the man was the head of the household, while women were treated as personal property similar to cattle, horses, or mules. They had to veil their faces, hide their hair, and could not leave the house at will, let alone be seen by other men. They were also not allowed to enter mosques for prayer, as women were considered inauspicious.
Even in later generations, followers in some Islamic countries could legally marry multiple wives, though it was not encouraged.
In that cruel era, a King killing his wife was no different from slaughtering his own ox or sheep. While you would have to pay compensation for killing another woman, killing your own wife was a "family matter." Although everyone knew it was wrong, legally, no one could hold the King accountable for his error.
Scheherazade lived in such an era, facing a tyrant alone, under the constant danger of being killed. Like someone feeding themselves to a tiger, day after day in her chambers, she waited for nightfall to tell stories to the tyrant in search of a chance to live.
However, while there are said to be stories for a thousand and one nights, fewer than two hundred have been passed down. The endings in the books were ultimately added by later generations; the heroine telling the stories may have never reached a final conclusion at all.
"For me! Anything but death, I absolutely refuse!" Scheherazade said once more with finality, looking at the youth.
"I believe you on that point. But what can I do for you?" Shirou asked.
"There is no rush for what I need you to do. To show my sincerity, please look at these first; I will explain everything to you," Scheherazade said.
She spread her arms and released her magical energy. Her staff floated up, emitting blue smoke that transformed into the shape of a scroll made of ancient Arabian papyrus.
Within the ethereal mist, the scroll gradually took physical form and unfurled. The text upon it formed illusory phantoms, showing two girls restrained within a massive machine.
"Artoria? Jeanne? Have they been captured? Where is that?" Shirou asked urgently.
Scheherazade explained: "Do not worry; at the very least, neither of them is in mortal danger. They are simply being used by Charlemagne to absorb energy."
"That place is the outer world, governed by the Witch. And this is the Inner World—a blend of epic tales and heroic biographies written by me, ruled by Charlemagne."
"Some parts are real, some are virtual. The Paladin Roland and the Abbasid warrior 'Giant' Ferragus whom you encountered outside are the same."
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