bookbashuk Page 628
Page 628
They stared blankly into the void, as if piercing through layers of ruins and time, gazing at a distant and invisible point.
Her posture carried a childlike, almost unconscious languor.
Her feet dangled in the air, swinging back and forth. Her bare ankles were so white they were almost transparent. Each slight movement broke through the stagnant air, creating the only faint dynamic rhythm in the deathly silence.
This gesture...
It's almost like, almost like they're waiting for someone.
It wasn't anxious pacing, nor was it a cold standing still; rather, it was this swaying that carried a hint of unease and restlessness.
It was as if time had lost its meaning around her, as if she had been waiting endlessly for an unknown amount of time. That focused sense of waiting almost solidified, permeating the air around her.
What's most unsettling is that there's absolutely no hint of malice on her face.
There was no expectation, no anxiety, no impatience, not even emptiness.
There was only a kind of pure, frozen calm, like the still surface of a lake under the moonlight.
However, it was precisely this unusual calm, combined with those eerie red eyes and mechanically swaying feet, that made it all the more bizarre and inexplicable.
Who is she waiting for?
This silent question, like a cold vine, lingered in the minds of every observer who witnessed this scene.
That posture, that atmosphere...
It's like waiting for a boyfriend who's late for a date.
It carries a faint, almost imperceptible hint of a young girl's innocent anticipation, mixed with an indifference that transcends the mundane passage of time.
She sat there, on the edge of the collapsing world, at the boundary between eternal darkness and fleeting glimmer of light, restless and uneasy... waiting.
She waits for "someone" who may never come, as if that is the only meaning of her existence on this ruin.
Matouchi stopped abruptly when she was still some distance away from the swaying white figure.
It wasn't attraction, but rather a deep-seated, instinctive warning of danger.
His deep, azure eyes narrowed instantly, his sharp gaze like an invisible probe piercing the darkness of the ruins, locking onto the seemingly "harmless" figure on the railing across the street.
frown.
This subtle movement encapsulated his most genuine feelings at that moment—a complex mix of vigilance, confusion, and cold assessment.
If we hadn't been prepared for a sneak attack...
The thought surged through his nerves like a cold electric current.
Beneath that seemingly innocent, almost pretentious, demeanor, lies an indescribable, eerily unsettling atmosphere.
It is neither ostentatious nor violent, yet like the most deadly venomous snake, it perfectly conceals its murderous intent beneath a harmless exterior.
If he hadn't maintained the highest level of vigilance, almost obsessive, towards his surroundings, his mental barrier would have unfolded layer by layer like an invisible force field...
Perhaps at this moment... he really will be "killed" here!
What makes Matou Ike most troublesome about this unpredictable way of activating her ability is—
There was absolutely no fluctuation caused by the activation of magic!
There were no ripples of gathered magic, no lingering echoes of incantations, no shimmering light from runes... nothing at all! It was as if that deadly sense of threat was an integral part of the white-clad girl's very being, as natural as breathing!
Just as Matouike's mind was racing, attempting to analyze this illogical phenomenon—
The girl on the railing seemed to have finally "discovered" him.
Her face, which had been frozen in pure tranquility, suddenly thawed like ice, blossoming into an extremely natural, even somewhat familiar, smile.
He raised his hand as if he had seen an old acquaintance and waved casually in his direction.
The movement was as natural as bumping into a long-lost friend on the street.
Immediately afterwards, she jumped off the railing with a beaming smile.
Her movements were as light as if weightless, her pure white skirt tracing a brief arc in the darkness. She landed silently, as if her feet were not on broken rubble, but on soft clouds.
Then--
She came over.
Her blonde hair swayed slightly with her light steps, flowing with a cool, soft light in the almost dark night.
The girl, with a smile as bright and clear as the warm spring sun, went with a clear goal...
We've come this way, past Matou Pond.
Each step was taken silently.
But with each step closer, Matou Ike sensed an invisible, eerie, and deadly threat rising like a cold tide!
Her face was radiant with a gentle breeze, and her eyes held a calm, crimson glow.
Her steps were "light," yet they carried an undeniable inevitability, like locking onto prey.
And so, amidst the collapsed streets of London, in the deathly silence and darkness of the aftermath, she walked straight toward Matou Pond as if going to a long-awaited rendezvous.
That pure white figure stood out so starkly against the dark, inky background, yet it seemed so...natural.
Matou Ike stood still, her body seemingly relaxed, but in reality, every muscle in her body was like a taut bowstring.
He stared intently at the face that was getting closer and closer, a face with a smile that seemed to be a reunion with an old friend.
It clearly captures that beauty that transcends ordinary understanding and is almost violent.
Her skin was pure white and smooth, her curves were delicate and soft, her eyelashes were like ink lines sticking out, and her blonde hair was almost shimmering.
Exquisite down to the smallest detail.
A beauty that is absolutely flawless.
This beauty is not "pretty" or "stunning" in the conventional sense.
It is an absolute.
A rule.
A cold and cruel physical embodiment of the concept of "perfection" itself!
At this moment, Matouchi's core of thought, the cognitive module that operates like a precision instrument, experienced an extremely brief overload and data disorder.
It's not that he hasn't seen beautiful women before.
In the world of magicians, physical beauty is often merely an appendage or a curse to power.
But what lies before us...
Her beauty transcends physical appearance, temperament, and even the magical concept of "allure" itself.
It is a declaration of existence, a violent crushing of the observer's cognitive boundaries!
A cold, almost instinctive judgment instantly formed in his mind:
I have never seen anything like it in my life.
Do not!
More accurately—
Such beauty is something most people will never see again in their lifetime!
It does not belong to this world.
It does not belong to any known lineage of life.
It is more like an ultimate work of art left behind in the ruins, from the distant other side of the starry sea, a walking paradox forged by "perfection" itself.
This beauty, in its very purity, carries a kind of inhuman terror that chills the soul!
The closer she got, the more intense the oppressive and eerie sense of deadly threat emanating from her beauty became, overwhelming Matouchi's senses like a cold tide.
That pure white skin, exquisite curves, eyelashes as dark as ink, shimmering blonde hair... every detail silently screams "inhuman," coldly mocking all of humanity's definitions and imaginations of "beauty."
This violent beauty exists on a scale that transcends the framework of ordinary cognition.
It is not an isolated marvel, but a phenomenon worthy of being measured within a larger and more ancient frame of reference.
This is a beauty comparable to Kitzling's.
No need to doubt.
The being before me is neither a human magician nor an ordinary anomaly.
She is a walking natural disaster!
She is a living legend!
She is--
The princess of the thousand-year-old city!
The embodiment of planetary touch, crowned with the title of "True Ancestor"!
The royal family of elves!
A name, like a cold brand, clearly emerges at the core of Matouchi's consciousness:
Arcueid Brunsstadt!
The inheritor of the Crimson Moon's blood! The potential wearer of the Moon Crown!
Having recognized this identity that could shake the very foundations of the world, the brief moment of daze on Matou Ike's face caused by the other person's eerie beauty vanished instantly, replaced by an almost formulaic calmness with a cold sense of distance.
He nodded slightly, his posture carrying a hint of a magician's reserve. His voice was not loud, yet it clearly pierced through the deadly tension between the two of them.
“I don’t know…” His words carried a deliberate, almost ancient formality, “…Your Highness, what brings you to these ruins to see me?”
"Princess"
It is far more than just a title of respect.
It was a confirmation! A declaration! A declaration that he had discerned the other party's true ancestor identity, an identity powerful enough to shake the Clock Tower and drive the Dead Apostles mad!
It was also a test! A test of why "White Princess," who should have been sleeping in the ancient city or being frantically pursued by the Dead Apostles, appeared like a ghost in the post-disaster ruins of London, and why... it seemed as if she was "specially" waiting for him?
The air seemed to become thicker and colder because of this name.
Arcueid Brunstadt's crimson, ruby-like eyes seemed to flicker very subtly the moment she heard the word "princess."