Magician in Type-Moon

Page 663

A burning ambition, surging from the deepest part of his body, almost scalding his soul, drove him.

At this moment, even the death of his own daughter seemed to have turned into insignificant background noise in the distance, unable to become a real obstacle on his path to the end.

Indeed, the Golden Princess and the Silver Princess were not magicians in the traditional sense from the very beginning, but rather the most precious 'experimental materials' and 'foundations' that existed to achieve ultimate beauty.

As for the issue of succession... he must create another son who can perfectly inherit the Izeruma Spell Mark, but there will always be a way to solve this.

Resources, means, time... everything can be poured into this great sacrifice.

"—Please, may I ask, Lord Bai Longqing."

A trembling voice cautiously broke in; it was Maiou. He seemed to have mustered all his courage to interrupt the patriarch's oppressive monologue.

"Isn't it... necessary to find the murderer?"

For him, this was a question that concerned his own life and was perfectly natural.

Even with the Silver Princess as a perfect "backup plan," using the case as an opportunity to exploit outsiders like Matouchi is understandable, but how could one completely allow the Golden Princess to be murdered—

The murderer who embodied such ultimate beauty is still at large?

Moreover, as long as the case remains unsolved, none of them, who are closely connected to the workshop, know when or where that invisible blade will strike again.

For magicians with exceptional combat skills, their deaths might simply be attributed to their own weakness and carelessness, and the case would be closed.

But Maio and Isloh clearly do not belong to this category.

They may each possess unique secret techniques that are considered "killer moves" in their respective fields, but they are by no means the type of fighters who have absolute confidence in themselves in a head-on confrontation.

Their value lies in creation, not destruction.

"So, you're implying that Matou Ike isn't the real culprit?"

Byron’s voice came from behind the meerschaum pipe, carrying a dangerous hum, like liquid about to boil in a still.

The smoke swirled before him, blurring his expression but making his scrutinizing gaze even sharper.

"...No, no, that's not what I meant at all..."

Mai's voice became fragmented, scattered like broken test tubes on the ground.

His innate weakness, which didn't belong to the world of magicians, was like an invisible shackle, preventing him from fully expressing the deep-seated fear and doubt in his heart.

“You don’t need to worry about it.” Byron’s assertion was firm and unquestionable, like the cold, hard philosophical eggs in the workshop.

“But…” Maio still wanted to make a final struggle, driven by his most primal fear for his own life.

"I told you, don't worry about it."

Before Byron could finish speaking, his will struck the ground again like a heavy cane, delivering an irrefutable final verdict.

The air seemed to freeze suddenly, leaving only the faint sound of the liquid boiling inside the distiller.

"……Yes."

Meo swallowed the words he couldn't say, along with his fear, and lowered his head so low he almost broke his neck.

He exchanged a brief but complex glance with Islo, and finally, guided silently by Regina, he and the other two left the suffocating workshop.

The heavy doors slowly closed, separating the two worlds.

Byron stood alone in the air thick with sweet smoke and ancient magic, his eyes fixed intently on the closed door, as if he wanted to burn it through.

After a long silence, a suppressed whisper escaped his lips, mingled with the smell of tobacco and a barely perceptible unease:

"...However, there may be another 'conspiracy' brewing in the shadows."

.........

The daylight was fragmented by the layers of branches and leaves, barely penetrating into the depths of this dense forest located east of the Tower of the Sun.

This place is quite a distance from the crime scene, and the damp air is filled with the scent of humus and shadows.

The lush canopy of trees intertwines to form an almost opaque, dark green dome, shrouding the interior in a perpetual, unsettling gloom.

A hoarse voice, with a certain pleasant tone, rang out in the thick darkness, like the rustling of withered leaves.

"What do we do? You heard Matou Ike's tone, didn't you? The situation is already half exposed. If this continues, no one can predict how things will develop tomorrow."

The owner of the voice—Lord Baruyeleta, the monarch of the clan—was leisurely leaning against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak tree.

Her figure almost blended into the shadows of the trees, with only the sharp glint in her eyes revealing that she was enjoying this intricate game of chess.

"What practical significance does knowing who the murderer is actually have?"

The answer came from another, deeper, darker corner, calm and detached.

“You and I, we are gathered here, and our purpose has never been to play detectives to track down any real culprit. On this special ‘stage,’ the so-called ‘murderer’ is nothing more than a ‘card’ that is pushed into the open to restrict and guide his actions.”

"Hehehe..." The old woman let out a suppressed laugh, like the low hooting of an owl.

"Playing cards can sometimes be influenced by one's own feelings and plans, can't it?"

"So," she changed the subject, her tone laced with a playful probing, "are we going to summon 'that' to appear?"

"Of course." The male voice in the darkness responded without hesitation, the intention to cooperate was clear.

"Now that our temporary collaboration has been finalized—"

He paused, and a faint rustling sound of fabric could be heard, as if he were lightly touching his short hair, a gesture carrying a deliberate air of frivolity and confidence characteristic of a spy.

"After all, 'that' has been my 'client' from the very beginning."

The magician, Mick Grazier, who claimed to be a spy, laughed triumphantly in the shadows. His smile was like the flicking tongue of a viper, silent yet deadly.

.........

Several hours passed quietly, slipping by unnoticed as Kirie focused intently on her deductions.

The sun had already sunk far in the west, painting the sky with a dusky yellow hue. The long, narrow shadow cast by the Tower of Sunlight traced a clear arc on the ground as time passed, like a giant, silent pointer.

Matouchi bent down, casually picked up a nearby dead branch, and began to trace lines on the ground covered with a few fallen leaves. The tip of the branch outlined clear circles and a series of intricate interlacing patterns, the lines so precise they seemed to have been drawn with an instrument.

"What is this?" Arcueid leaned down to examine it curiously, her golden hair falling to her shoulders.

“A simplified diagram of a sundial and moondial,” Matou Ike replied without looking up, his gaze following the lines he had drawn.

"Brightly displaying the principle across the entire land makes it the most difficult 'secret' for ordinary people to perceive. Typical magician thinking—hiding the truth right in front of your eyes."

"what."

Arcueid let out a soft sigh of realization, then nodded vigorously in understanding.

Her emerald eyes followed the enormous shadow of the Tower of the Sun, which at this moment had transformed into a gigantic sundial pointer pointing to the heavens.

“…So, what does a sundial mean…” she deduced logically.

"The principle is the same. However, the 'marks' of a moondial are only truly 'lit up' and function when the moonlight reaches a certain intensity on a full moon night."

Matouchi explained that the branch touched a certain arc on the ground.

"By the way, if measured by the orthodox standards of sundials, both of these are slightly under-tilted. This error is probably corrected by the subtle curvature of the tower and the spiritual energy of the land itself, which forms the clock face. Do you understand, madam?"

"Hmm." Arcueid crossed her arms and pondered seriously.

"Indeed, the construction of such a large-scale device could not possibly be unrelated to the birth of Izeruma's core magic—the Golden Princess and the Silver Princess."

Matou Ike simply shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. His face did not show the joy of solving the mystery; instead, it was shrouded in a deeper layer of confusion.

Unfortunately, the subsequent simulation results were not ideal.

He opened the leather-bound notebook at his feet and repeatedly used his classic fountain pen to rapidly list various complex inferences and hypotheses within it—

It involved planetary correspondences, mythological archetypes, and energy conversion formulas. However, he deleted almost every one of them by drawing a large, almost piercing "X" symbol.

He occasionally let out suppressed, almost painful groans, his fingers fidgeting in his hair.

“Comparing the sun directly to Helios’s sublime magic… no, the attribute mismatch is too great. Conversely, even if you replace the moon’s divine foundation with Selene or Sumer’s Nanna, and forcibly give it the additional attributes of a ‘sacred beast,’ it’s difficult to change its fundamental operating logic…”

He muttered to himself as if he were having a heated debate with some unseen scholar.

"The Tower of Sun and the Tower of Moon are simply too vast and concrete 'factors' of the spell. Any attempt to cleverly modify the details is meaningless in their presence..."

“…Matou?” Arcueid called softly, seemingly worried that he was too engrossed in his own world.

“No,” he shook his head violently, as if trying to shake off those tangled thoughts.

"The cycle of power between the sun and the moon... it still can't perfectly match the characteristics of that so-called 'secret treasure'... could it really be unrelated?"

At this moment, his expression was one of utter frustration, his tightly furrowed brows and slightly anxious eyes making it almost impossible to believe that this was the same dignified man who had calmly confronted one of the three noble families not long ago.

“If things continue like this,” Arcueid pointed out the predicament, “will we still be able to meet the demanding deadline set by Lord Byron?”

Ultimately, even if the real culprit is caught by chance, it's just adding another usable "card" to a complex game.

To completely clear oneself of suspicion and extricate oneself from the focus of all doubts, what is needed is more disruptive "evidence" that can decisively win the case.

Knowing this, Bai Longqing seemingly generously set a time limit, allowing Matouchi to move freely.

If we encounter setbacks and stagnation at this initial stage of analysis, it would be wishful thinking to expect a final comeback.

“Hmm. No, the problem in this regard is actually…” Matou Ike took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down from his anxiety, and his eyes became deep again.

"...It's just a phase where we 'wait' for certain things to happen, and then we can think about it."

"Wait?" Arcueid tilted his head slightly, his sun-kissed blond hair flowing down his back, a hint of confusion flashing in his eyes.

"Hmm." Matou Ike shrugged casually, his movements carrying a deliberate sense of relaxation, a stark contrast to the tension he had displayed when he was fully focused on deduction.

He raised his hand, his fingertips silently tracing the air gradually tinged with twilight.

"Although the 'I' at the moment is constrained by suspicion and time limits, like a puppet controlled by invisible threads, I feel restricted in everything I do and find it difficult to truly let go..."

A cold smile curled at the corner of his lips as he cast his gaze into the shadows lurking deeper within the manor.

"But on the other hand, my 'opponents' hiding behind the curtain, seeing me temporarily trapped in this corner of the game, aren't they thinking it's the perfect opportunity to 'let loose' and act freely?"

Chapter 688 Visit

"A guest has arrived."

With a soft "click," Matouchi closed the pen cap steadily, his movements calm and unhurried, as if he had already anticipated this interruption.

"—Any new discoveries?"

A voice rang out. It was a timbre that was enough to captivate the senses and stir the soul just by hearing it; it gently pierced the evening air and rippled across the cool grassland.