Magician in Type-Moon

Page 492

Kitz's experiment seems to be the key to this situation.

The collaboration between the Magic Association and the Clock Tower is like a game of strategy between the two sides around a time bomb, which can only be defused after Kiz fails.

"This kind of cooperation is too unreliable, isn't it?" Luvia frowned, finding it hard to understand this operating model.

It's too unstable, like dancing on a tightrope. It's more like a crazy gamble—both parties are placing huge bets on each other's integrity without any concrete agreement.

But then again, everything on this gambling ship somehow somehow fits together with the word "gambling".

This isn't a pointless gamble, but rather a game played under specific rules. It's a gamble of chips, of timing, and even of the opponent's greed and cunning. But if this approach is adopted, doesn't it mean that both sides rely entirely on trust to maintain cooperation? Isn't that a pipe dream?

Would Kiz, as a magician of the Wandering Sea, be foolish enough not to guard against his partner? Or, in the eyes of that ancient magician, is this not cooperation at all, but a hunt in another sense?

If Melvin and his team were to back out at the crucial moment, the deal would be ruined. But now, everything seems to be proceeding smoothly... no, it seems that the "perfect answer" belongs only to the Clock Tower.

So, what about that magician from the Age of Gods?

Luvia's thoughts raced. She vaguely sensed something, but found the hypothesis utterly absurd. However, Matou Ike spoke slowly, as if she had seen through her doubts.

“There was no conspiracy, and no betrayal.” He spoke calmly, as if stating a perfectly ordinary fact.

“Then you…” Luvia instinctively wanted to retort, but she stopped abruptly halfway through her sentence.

A certain possibility surfaced in her mind, sending chills down her spine.

There must have been some kind of agreement between the clock tower and Kitz to ensure the order of the experiment's progress.

Kitz wouldn't be unprepared, and Melvin and the others wouldn't reveal the plan to Matou Ike before the experiment began, nor would they allow him to interfere with Kitz's experimental process.

In other words, the man before them, without receiving any plans or intelligence from the Clock Tower, relied solely on the slightest clues to unhesitatingly push for the failure of the Kitz experiment, thereby accelerating the Clock Tower's success.

Luvia even began to suspect that Matouchi had no intention of sabotaging Kiz's experiment.

That wasn't his goal; the only thing that interested him was the content of the ceremony before him.

So, what about the battle just now—

What was once a battle that seemed to be on the verge of a fight to the death now appears to have been nothing more than a simple struggle for interests.

Every sword strike, every spell, every attack is merely to achieve a precisely calculated goal, not out of genuine hostility.

Luvia even found it somewhat laughable. If Kiz hadn't died in this experiment, she could easily imagine that one day in the future, Matou Ike could sit calmly across from him in a tavern and talk about their gains and losses.

Is this the mindset of a top-tier magician?

Luvia looked up at Matou Ike, whose expression remained calm and undisturbed. Yet, at that moment, she clearly felt a deeper chill.

Matou Ike naturally didn't care about Luvia's thoughts at the moment.

Her doubts, her shock, even her speculations—none of these mattered. Luvia was indeed an exceptional magician, exceptionally talented and brilliant, but ultimately limited by her age and experience.

Some answers cannot be easily grasped by intelligence alone; rather, they require time and experience to fill in those insurmountable gaps.

Time, however, is precisely what she lacks most.

Matou Ike didn't engage in any further conversation with her, not even offering a word of explanation. His attention was completely focused on the ritual before him, his Mystic Eyes operating at high speed, capturing every subtle change.

The flow of magic, the interweaving of spells, the subtle misalignment of runes—he meticulously analyzed everything, as if peeling away layers of intricate disguise.

This is magic that can be linked to the principle of consumption; it is not an easy task to fully understand and modify it to a level that one can use.

Chapter 552 Even Beautiful Things Can Grow Ugly and Wither (4K)

The astonishing impact cleansed the world.

A beam of light pierced the sky, connecting with the spaceship, like a rift tearing through reality, unfolding in the firmament.

What followed was a sound—high-pitched and far-reaching, carrying indescribable pain and lamentation, like the last cry of a cicada in late summer, echoing in this space distorted by the spell.

The dissipated magic is not disordered, but flows according to a certain pattern.

They intertwined and entangled, as if some higher structure was taking shape. It was not ordinary magic, but a feat closer to a miracle.

Majestic, solemn, and filled with immeasurable majesty—this magic seems to be shaping a completely new cycle, a system that transcends the laws of the world at this moment.

At this moment, the spaceship, which had been given the name of a god, trembled in resentment.

It seemed to be bound by some invisible shackles, its hull slightly twisted, and an unsettling low hum emanated from its metallic shell.

This spaceship, which should have been a creation of the supreme will, is now firmly nailed to this place, resisting its predetermined fate.

But all the struggles were in vain.

The chains of karmic fire are spreading relentlessly, climbing rapidly onto the ship's hull like ravenous beasts, inch by inch devouring its intricate and ancient structure.

These chains are not ordinary objects, but rather a tapestry woven from several powers, each thread containing a principle that transcends the constraints of time.

The runes on the spaceship's surface attempted to resist, flickering with a faint light, trying to withstand the destructive flames.

However, those runes were merely a dying struggle, a final burst of light before being consumed by the flames in an instant, turning into scorching ashes and disappearing into the void.

The struggle has been repeated countless times.

Each time, the spaceship was suppressed in the same way, mercilessly bound by that invisible force.

It seemed that all resistance was doomed to fail to change its ultimate fate. Finally, the spaceship stopped trembling, as if it had accepted reality and given up its last struggle.

A moment of silence fell, as if even time itself had stopped. Then, that familiar voice, deep and somewhat ethereal, came from the depths of the spaceship, echoing in this space distorted by magic.

"...Is a dream a dream?"

Kiz's voice seemed somewhat confused, as if he himself was not sure whether he was in a dream or had already been dragged into the vortex of reality.

The voice carried an untimely childishness, revealing a longing for the unknown:

"I really want to go to the end of the universe."

His tone remained unchanged, still relaxed, yet it subtly revealed an undisguised longing.

Matou Ike's gaze remained icy as she calmly observed everything before her, but her tone carried a hint of displeasure.

He could no longer tolerate such interference, and spoke coldly, his voice steady but utterly impolite:

"I'm so sorry to have disturbed your dream. Now that you clearly know you've lost, your deal has moved on to the next stage, so stop resisting. This is exhausting for me too, Kiz."

His magic was still working hard to maintain the restraint of the karmic fire, keeping the spaceship firmly trapped in this chaotic space, but each act of resistance meant that he had to devote more energy to it.

It feels like you're trying to concentrate on your work, but there's always a bratty kid around causing a ruckus and making a racket.

“How heartless of you,” Kiz replied lazily to Matou Ike.

"A loss is a loss. Do I need to teach you the winner-takes-all principle?" Matou Ike couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"So you want me to let it go? You want me to ignore the mistakes that life on this planet has been making? That's too selfish."

Kiz's lazy tone remained unchanged, but a faint sense of tension emerged in that void.

He spoke these words calmly, yet with an overwhelming power. He wasn't seeking any understanding; he was simply stating the facts.

“No.” Matou Ike shook his head slightly, his eyes deep, his tone carrying an unwavering calm. “What I just said was your problem. Only by living, by living to the very end, can the footprints of humanity truly become the answer. But you—”

"Because he died?" Kiz's tone was somewhat lazy, as if he didn't care about Matou Ike's words.

“No.” Matou Ike shook her head again, her gaze piercing through layers of mist as she stared intently at Kiz. “It’s not because you’re dead, but because you’ve fixed your mind.”

"........."

Kiz seemed to pause for a moment; although his face was no longer visible, it didn't look very good.

Matou Ike's gaze deepened, and his words flowed slowly, as if he were speaking to Kiz, or perhaps talking to himself:

"Living, in most cases, means change. You change again and again, accumulating experience from countless moments, and the coordinates at the moment you finally fall are the answer to life."

He paused for a moment, seemingly gazing at some distant, unreachable place. "Every choice, every turning point, is a microcosm of life. That is the meaning of life. Those who pursue eternity ultimately lose the most essential thing—change."

Finally, Matou Ike looked up at the sky and slowly said:

"Therefore, in order to create a special mental world, you, who have not changed for more than two thousand years, have lost the right to ask for the correct answer."

As if provoked, a phantom floated down from the spaceship.

It was Kitz.

"You have just sealed off the future of the planet in order to save one nation."

Kiz said dismissively, his words a mixture of anger and coldness, like a sharp, icy blade piercing Matou Ike's chest.

"Yes." Matou Ike's answer was simple, yet full of unwavering determination.

Kiz's gaze sharpened, as if he could see right through Matou Ike. "You also shattered the Atlas Institute's final calculation machine. You destroyed the path to salvation for humanity."

“That’s right.” Matou Ike admitted it without hesitation, his tone calm, almost as if he were talking about something trivial.

However, this simple affirmation was like a bombshell, exploding in the air and shaking the entire space with undeniable facts.

Kiz paused, a complex emotion flickering in his eyes, but then let out a cold laugh. "You destroyed several world-class magical treasures, more precious than any nation. Do you understand what that means?"

Matou Ike remained unmoved, continuing to stare straight back at him, her gaze deep and clear. "I believe I understand."

After a moment of silence, Matou Ike's voice slowly rang out, carrying an indescribable emotion: "I am shattering beautiful things."

He paused, as if weighing the weight of each word, "Shattering can never be reproduced in modern times. The art created by the geniuses of the divine realm is inexplicably shattered."

The story intertwines denunciation and repentance, as if Matouchi is judging himself, or as if he is examining the brokenness of the entire world.

Kiz slowly raised that beautiful yet ethereal finger, his eyes flashing with a resolute and furious rage.

"Then you shall be cursed, Matou!"

"Hey, you've got the wrong person, you old rascal."

However, the response was mocking and disdainful.

"Hey, you've got the wrong person, you old rascal."

Before he could finish speaking, an arm suddenly pierced through Kiz's illusory back and down to his chest. The brown skin was as hot as fire, carrying a strong sense of vitality and oppression.

Kiz lowered his head, his gaze fixed on the arm that had grown out of his chest, his face filled with disbelief and pain.

His voice seemed to carry a hint of sadness as he whispered.

"Ruolong..."

"You kept your promise, you old rascal." A light voice came from behind, tinged with a hint of teasing and indifference.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Bai Ruolong, who had been missing for so long, silently appeared behind Kiz. His figure, like that arm, carried endless contradictions and a sudden change.