Anomaly Ch. 48

The Senate chamber was never truly silent. Even in the absence of voices, the weight of history pressed down upon it. History that anyone that stood in it for more than a few seconds would be able to feel. Be it from the cracks that lined the walls, ones that couldn't be repaired due to the ever-presence of the senators, or the groves in the floor that clearly marked where many, many orators paced during their speeches.

Shirou Emiya stood at the center of it all, the weight of countless eyes upon him.

He had been summoned back alone. No Lelei, no Tuka. Even Anatoly was left behind even though this should have involved him and his supposed leadership of the Yaga rebels. Just him, the Emperor, and the assembled might of the Senate, their expressions ranging from open hostility to veiled curiosity.

Molt Sol Augustus lounged upon his throne, one hand propping up his chin, watching him like a hawk eyeing prey.

"Do you understand, Chulainn?"

Shirou met the Emperor’s gaze, "I understand the terms."

Molt’s fingers tapped once against his cheek, slow, considering, "Do you?"

A test.

Shirou exhaled through his nose. He knew what Molt wanted, not just agreement, not just submission, but acknowledgment. The Emperor needed him to say it, to voice the unspoken truth of their arrangement.

However, to do so would also undermine the very picture Shirou wanted to paint. 'Chulainn' was a Celt. A nomadic warrior that would bow to no one, only his own ideals. And 'Chulainn' had already shown himself to be shrewd enough to make his petition known to the Senate in the first place. There would be no doubt that he would have caught on to what the Emperor was implying.

Two words. A lesser man might have broken under the weight of the Emperor’s gaze, under the unspoken demand in that single question.

Unfortunately for the Emperor, he still had nothing on the glares that the Queen had thrown at him more than a few times.

Shirou let the tension coil, then smiled. Not the sharp grin of a warrior, but something quieter. More dangerous.

"I understand," He started, "That you’re offering me a blade."

Molt’s fingers stilled.

Shirou continued, voice low but carrying, "A blade you don’t want to wield yourself. One that might cut the hand that holds it." He tilted his head, just slightly, "But a blade doesn’t need to love the hand that wields it. It just needs to cut true."

A murmur rippled through the Senate. Somewhere in the shadows, a scribe’s quick scratched faster against parchment.

Molt’s lips curled, not quite a smile, but something close, "And if the blade breaks?"

"Then it was never worth your steel to begin with."

The Emperor leaned back, exhaling through his nose. For a moment, the chamber held its breath.

"Good."

A single word, but it settled like a verdict.

Molt lifted a hand, and a servant stepped forward, bearing a scroll. The terms were already written, the ink still dark. No negotiation. No hesitation.

Shirou took the offered quill.

He didn’t look at the words. He already knew what they said.

Instead, he met Molt’s gaze one last time - and signed.

Chulainn.

The name was a weapon in itself.

The moment the ink dried, the Emperor waved a hand, "Then it is done."

At that announcement, a flurry of activity started up. Senators rose from their seats in a rustle of fine robes, some already whispering to aides, others shooting dark glances Shirou's way. The scribes finished their hasty notations, rolling parchments with practiced efficiency. The chamber, so still moments ago, now hummed with the energy of a deal struck.

Shirou remained standing at the center of the chamber. As the commotion swirled around him, he spoke again, his voice cutting through the noise.

"There is one more condition."

The murmuring died instantly. Molt, who had begun to rise from his throne, paused mid-motion. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Speak." The Emperor commanded.

Shirou kept his tone measured, "The slaves taken by Prince Zorzal. They should be included in the transfer."

A ripple of surprise passed through the assembled senators. Molt's expression remained unreadable.

"And why," The Emperor asked slowly, "Should my son's property be given to you?"

"Because they're the spark that lit this fire." Shirou met Molt's gaze without flinching. "The particular slaves he recently reappropriated - they're the main reason why this escalated so much. Return them, and you remove its heart."

For a long moment, the chamber was utterly silent. Shirou could see the calculations moving behind Molt's eyes as the Emperor reviewed the reports in his mind. The timing of the slave raids, the locations of the first rebel attacks - it all lined up exactly as Shirou said.

The earthshaking was just the opportunity. The slaves had already planned on rebelling when it happened.

At least, that was the thought process behind it, even though not even Shirou was completely certain of the fact.

Not that it mattered when the Emperor was likely to agree. By anyone's measure, there were two ways of making sure that the rebels didn't lash out: appease them, or completely wipe them out. There was no third option of trying to cow them; it was just the mathematics of rebel warfare.

Say that there were ten rebels. If the Empire were to kill two, then the result would not be a reduction in numbers, resulting in eight. No, those two rebels had friends and family, and suddenly, they had a reason to join the rebels that had killed their loved one.

In the end, those ten rebels, with two dead, would balloon to twenty, then thirty. And due to the nature of the Empire having relied on slave labor so much, there was no shortage of slaves ready to become rebels.

In short, the Emperor would have no choice but to accept, just by thinking about it in the most pragmatic sense. Without a reason for the slaves to rebel, the Empire could focus on what they deemed to be more important matters.

Molt's fingers tapped once against the armrest of his throne. Then, with deliberate slowness, he nodded.

"An astute observation." The Emperor's voice was cool, but there was a new note of respect in it. "Very well. The slaves in question will be added to your charge."

A senator in the front row - an older man with the bearing of a military officer - opened his mouth to protest. Molt silenced him with a single raised finger.

"The matter is settled." The Emperor's tone brooked no argument, "See that my son is informed of this decision."

The senator bowed his head, though his jaw remained clenched in obvious displeasure.

The Emperor remained seated, watching the chaos with detached amusement. His gaze, however, never left Shirou.

A servant approached, bowing low as he presented a sealed document. The official writ granting Shirou authority over the rebels - now including Zorzal's slaves. The wax bore the Imperial crest, still warm from the press.

Shirou took it. The parchment felt heavier than it should have.

Then, without ceremony, the Emperor stood.

The room fell silent again, all movement ceasing as if frozen. Molt descended the steps of the dais, his robes whispering against marble. Senators and guards alike stepped back, clearing a path as he approached Shirou.

When he spoke, his voice was pitched for Shirou alone.

"You have your blade, Celt. Now let us see whose flesh it cuts."

There was no mistaking the challenge in those words.

Shirou met his gaze evenly, "Sharpened steel doesn't discriminate, Your Majesty."

A beat. Then Molt chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. He turned away, waving a dismissive hand, "Go. You have work to do."

The dismissal was clear.

As Shirou turned to leave, he felt the weight of the Senate's stares like knives against his back. Some were calculating. Others burned with outright hostility. None of them trusted him.

Good.

He didn't need their trust. He just needed their compliance.

The great doors of the chamber groaned open, then shut behind him with a final, echoing thud.

…

When he returned to his assigned room, he found that Tuka and Lelei had already packed up what little they brought with them. Clearly, neither of them found any reason to stick in the capital any longer than they had to. Anatoly was the same, though he didn’t exactly have anything with him to pack anyway. The only thing that really changed for him is that he was subsequently released from his bindings.

That didn’t stop quite a bit of wariness from the guards, however.

The Princess was there to send them off as well. Surprisingly, she gave no reprimands, nor did she give them any encouragement. Rather, she stared at them with too-tired eyes that Shirou had only seen in the mirror after a particularly difficult mission.

That didn’t exactly bode well.

At any rate, in just half an hour, they were making their way back to the ruined merchant’s district. Along the way, they were met by more than a few hostile looks in their directions, though none of them acted on it. They were, after all, still focused on gathering more and more offerings for their gods.

Thankfully, that meant that they managed to travel across the noble district fairly unopposed, only stopped by the actual gate guards who’d looked at them in suspicion. With a quick read through of the agreement that Shirou produced, they were ushered back into the merchant’s district.

Travelling through the district itself was easier than the first time around. Since Anatoly had been ‘taken prisoner’, there had not been any ambushes by the rebels. This meant that they no longer had to be on guard as much, though even if they had been ambushed, Anatoly himself would have been enough to prevent any actual attacks.

Instead, they had made it to the small settlement that the rebels had made without much incident, and found Komakado waiting with his hands in his pocket.

"You actually pulled it off." Komakado said, a smirk on his face, "I'll admit, I had my doubts."

"You already know?"

"Well, you wouldn't exactly be walking here if you had failed, you know?"

Shirou shrugged, though the weight of the Imperial writ in his pouch felt heavier than ever. "It's not over yet. The Emperor agreed to hand over the rebels - including the slaves Zorzal took."

Komakado's eyebrows shot up, "Seriously? How the hell did you manage that?"

"By making him think it was his idea." Shirou’s voice was dry, "He realized they were the spark of the rebellion. Handing them over was the 'pragmatic' choice."

Komakado’s lips turned from a smirk to a bitter smile, "Of course. The Empire only moves when it benefits them." He glanced at Anatoly, who had immediately split off and headed to where the Yaga were, then back at Shirou, "Most of the camp's already prepared to leave. As soon as you give the word, we're moving out."

Shirou nodded, "Alright. We’re still waiting for word on Zorzal, so for now, I’ll need a headcount on how many we’re taking with us."

“Sure, sure.” Komakado waved him off, “Just, I’ll need to tell them where we’re going if you want to keep the order around here. They’re already antsy as it is, telling them to wait may just make things worse.”

“We’re likely heading to one of the settlements close to Alnus, possibly Italica, though I’m not entirely sure.”

At his words, Komakado had to blink, “Wait, why would that even matter? Don’t you technically ‘own’ us anyway?” Shirou put no effort into suppressing the scowl that formed on his face as the older man spoke.

“Unfortunately, when I first saw the Emperor, I realized that tricking him into just giving up ownership wouldn’t work. Instead, all of you are technically ‘laborers’ under my responsibility.”

“...the others aren’t going to like that, you know.” Komakado had to pause to stare at Shirou incredulously, before sighing in frustration, “Well, that at least gives us the opportunity to get people out on the way to wherever. These Imperials are unlikely to post us in the capital after all the damned trouble we’ve caused.”

Indeed, that was the case. Everyone who’d been involved with the rebellion wouldn’t be trusted to stay in the capital. Likely, the Emperor would give them a contract outside of the main city, and the only feasible area they could be sent is to the direction of Alnus Hill. The other areas would either be towards the returning Imperial Legions, which would be the worst idea for even the Senate to make, as this might cause an even bigger conflict should both sides encounter each other in a misunderstanding.

This could very well force the rebels back into the capital if they were to retreat.

Neither side wanted that. Or, perhaps, one side did - the warhawks in the Imperial Senate. However, from a purely transactional view, the most reasonable thing to do was send the new laborers to do some actual work for free. Work that was very much required after the earthshakes that had happened, and the only city that made any sense would be Italica.

All of that to say, if the Emperor was as pragmatic as he portrayed, he would do exactly as Shirou predicted.

The only problem now was Zorzal. Already, the prince should have been informed of the Emperor’s directive, and yet, there was still no sign of him.

Maybe he was just running late? After all, he hadn’t even been in the Senate during a state of emergency. Perhaps he had actually been doing something of import?

Whatever the case, Shirou could only wait with bated breath for the prince. He just hoped he wasn’t as bad as the Enforcer had heard he was.

As always, Shirou would be forced to swallow his words sooner rather than later.

…