Magician in Type-Moon

Page 524

In this isolated space, Hartres's arrangements allowed them to avoid possible surveillance by the clock tower and temporarily refrain from entering the dangerous mining city. Instead, they remained quietly here as instructed.

The imposter opened the bottle in his hand, gently twisted off the cap with one hand, put the liquor into his mouth, and then wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fine wine,” she said softly, a hint of intoxication in her eyes. “It makes me feel as if a god has descended upon this place.”

Hartres couldn't help but laugh: "Your god is so generous."

The imposter raised his eyes, revealing a faint smile, his gaze seemingly sparkling with stars:

"Of course. Chaos and disorder are both blessings from the gods. Because human reason is ultimately limited; it cannot reach everything in this world. Getting drunk is our only salvation."

"...I see. Hearing you, a magician from the mythical era, say this, I can frankly agree."

Hartres's voice carried a knowing smile.

"Don't say that. When it comes to magic tricks, modern magic is by no means inferior."

The imposter raised an eyebrow slightly, his tone tinged with disdain, as if challenging Hartres's assessment.

Hartres smiled, seemingly unconcerned about the imposter's response.

"So, the key lies in other aspects. Even that Grand Puppeteer, you yourself said she's very fragile."

"Of course that's how it is."

The imposter spoke without hesitation, a hint of agreement flashing in her eyes. Her gaze was low, as if recalling some past events, and her words carried an invisible pressure.

"Her vulnerability lies not only in her techniques, but also in her dependence on her identity and her attachment to the past. That kind of mental instability will ultimately become her greatest weakness."

“However,” she sighed softly, re-examining her surroundings.

"At the same time, I also admire it very much. Rather than a difference in level, it's more accurate to say that the gap in modern magic has expanded to a completely different dimension."

Even so, that Aozaki guy persisted relentlessly; his tenacity was astonishingly awe-inspiring. Just how many trump cards she was hiding, even I couldn't fathom.

“...Yes.” Hartres nodded, his tone heavy.

The same goes for the collective projection type familiar that Aozaki Touko was preparing to use at the end; it was simply unfathomable.

Needless to say, her talent in suddenly emerging from a remote region like Japan to claim the Grand rank is remarkable. What is even more frightening is her spirit of never backing down when facing the magicians of the mythological era.

Chapter 578 The Secret of the Corpse (4k)

"That's why I wanted to ask for more information—but being able to escape before she played her new trump card is perhaps a kind of luck."

The imposter shrugged casually, his tone both self-deprecating and a sigh of gratitude for fate's leniency.

“That’s exactly what I meant,” Hartres replied, his tone still sharp. “Our goal isn’t to fight those monsters to the death.”

The imposter snorted softly through his nose, casually raised the flat bottle, and took another sip.

The liquor slid down her throat, burning like fire, and seemed to ignite some ancient anger hidden in her eyes.

"The only thing left is to break through the necessary number of levels in that great labyrinth before the appointed time, right?"

She asked the question casually, but Hartress knew that it concealed a series of complex plans and calculations.

“That’s right.” Hartres nodded softly, then lowered his head slightly and said with a hint of apology, “However… it was my oversight that you consumed more magic than expected.”

Hartres lowered his gaze in fear.

The imposter looked down at him, a subtle feeling rising in his heart.

He was a peculiar Master—outwardly polite and restrained in his speech, yet his demeanor occasionally revealed the arrogance unique to magicians.

At the same time, they also possess a youthful innocence and a passion for the unknown.

Behind his thin frame and pale face beats a stubborn will that refuses to be easily swallowed up by fate.

She had never seen this trait in any of her past kings or brothers.

Therefore, she doesn't dislike him.

Even if it's just a brief appearance in the world, even if she submits to the summoner's command spell as a Heroic Spirit Servant—if he gives the order and leads her to the crossroads of fate, she doesn't object.

After all, this soul already exists with the King. But occasionally following the guidance of another person is not necessarily a bad thing.

Hartles, at least, was someone she could listen to for a moment.

Therefore, words of comfort slipped unintentionally from his lips:

"You're the one who's finding it difficult, right? After all, I only received the bare minimum of assistance from the Greater Grail. Do you have enough savings?"

“I’ve saved up quite a bit along the way,” Hartres said, looking up and responding casually.

"That's good."

The imposter nodded slightly.

"Our battle—has it only just begun?"

She spoke softly, her eyes gazing up at the scene before her, as if making a declaration to some sacred being.

The intertwined and twisted giant trees, as if sculpted into the shape of a door by an unseen force, meander and spread, exuding an ancient aura.

That is one of the great magical circuits in the Spirit Tomb Albion that leads to the deeper levels, with countless intersecting veins inside, forming the mysterious lifeline of this otherworld.

It is said that even the king who sits at the highest point has never set foot here.

She stood at the "end of the world," a place even the king could not reach.

This fact alone made her blood boil more than any fine wine, as if her breath itself was burning. She grinned, a thorny smile playing on her lips.

"What floor is the target again?" the imposter asked, his voice laced with undisguised anticipation.

“The 175th layer of the Grand Magic Circuit,” Hartres replied, flipping through his notes.

"Although there are several shortcuts to take, the internal structure of Albion can change at any time. Even the relatively stable paths recorded in the past cannot be guaranteed to still hold true today."

"Very good—a journey without challenge is worthless."

The imposter licked his lips, his eyes seeming to already be on the battlefield.

"Have modern magicians also tried to explore this place?" she then asked.

“...Let me make this clear from the start.” Hartres paused briefly, his tone calm.

"When modern magicians enter the spirit tomb Albion, the enemies they face mostly consist of only about 20% of the inhabiting monsters."

The vast majority of them don't engage in direct combat. Their focus is on the layout of the dungeon, the recovery and analysis of cursed entities. Combat isn't their primary task. Although they might occasionally leave traps to capture samples.

"Oh? You deliberately used the word 'they'."

The imposter revealed a sharp smile, like a beast that has caught the scent of its prey before hunting, and raised his chin with delight.

She understood.

Hartres drew a line in his words, implying that they were not the kind of people—not cautious investigators, but beings who would actively "invade" the mystery.

“Just what I wanted.” The imposter narrowed his eyes and smiled sinisterly.

She stepped forward, her boots landing on the path formed by the twisted tree roots, and looked back at Hartles, smiling like a general attending a banquet:

"Let's go—invade Albion, the Tomb of the Dead, my master."

.........

"—Brother!"

As soon as the door opened, Reines screamed, as if she had seen something incomprehensible.

This is her private room in Sla.

Although Sla usually discourages members from having too much private space, she still insisted on having this separate room and took it for granted that she could enjoy this luxury. Right now, this privilege has become the best place for the brother and sister to talk.

El-Melloi II stood in the center of the room, flipping through a heavy stack of documents on the table. Without looking up, he spoke:

"There's something I'd like to ask you to think about together."

"That's alright... but are you alright, brother?"

Reines blinked a few times, her eyebrows slightly raised, a hint of worry in her voice—that was unusual.

In contrast, El-Melloi II's appearance was far from dignified. He held a sandwich in one hand and documents in the other, his shoulders were slightly hunched, and he looked exhausted.

Grey stood quietly behind him, holding a silver tray and tea set, like a dutiful personal attendant.

He said he was "hungry," so Grey personally borrowed the kitchen in the student cafeteria. Because of the time crunch, she only had time to make a roast beef sandwich.

At this moment, he didn't look like a monarch of a clock tower at all, but more like a teacher who was staying up all night grading papers.

King El-Melloi II muttered a sigh:

"It's hard to say. I still want to escape."

"That's really reassuring to hear."

Reines pursed her lips and shrugged dramatically. "In that case, even though I'm swamped with work myself, I'll reluctantly prioritize dealing with my poor brother's troubles."

As she spoke, she deliberately adopted a condescending posture, her eyes flashing with a fiery magic as she looked up at him.

"But, are you sure it's alright?" Her tone shifted, and her eyes sharpened.

"I've already considered the possibility that you might betray Matou, or even support Heartless under certain circumstances. If you're here bracing yourself, are you perhaps considering the latter?"

This statement is both a question and a verification.

Reines was not asking the question merely from her sister's perspective, but rather as the future heir of the El-Melloi family, attempting to determine whether the acting monarch's actions were in the family's best interests.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Reines said slowly. “I’m not saying that supporting Hartres was the wrong choice.”

The Second Prince paused for a moment upon hearing this, brushed the bread crumbs off his suit shoulder, and then continued.

"Giving in to Hartres is certainly not the path I intend to take."

Reines grinned, revealing a cunning expression like that of a cat.

"great."

She clasped her hands together in front of her eyes, as if to remember this scene.

"Then, what brings you here, my lord?"

The Second Prince ignored her teasing and went straight to the point:

"It's about the body that Matou found at the Secret Corpse Dissection Bureau."