Magician in Type-Moon

Page 323

After all, the old man in front of him was different from him; he was a true aristocratic magician whose family lineage had been cultivated in Western Europe for nearly a thousand years.

"That's right. Some intruders have been discovered in an important industrial area in London. They are also mages who can control Heroic Spirits. They may be El-Melloi's pack of hounds."

The old man answered without question.

Danic could only manage a wry smile upon hearing this; after all, who could have imagined that such a mess would occur at such a crucial stage of the plan...

"It seems you'll have to wait until you've resolved the issues there before going. Hopefully, you can resolve those issues as soon as possible and reunite with us..."

"Understood. If there is enough time, I certainly won't miss such a good opportunity."

After speaking, the old man instructed his assistant to push the wheelchair out of the room.

As Danic watched the old man's retreating figure, he uttered his last words:

"Your Highness Orlock, if you fail, I hope you will not reveal our whereabouts, nor will you disclose your research on butterfly magic, as this concerns our future..."

The elderly man in the constantly rolling wheelchair nodded and looked into the distance:

"Don't worry, after all, the premise of associating with you lowly creatures is a self-forced essay bearing the mark of an evil god..."

......

"It seems to be the effect of self-mandated essay submissions."

In a secluded, dark alleyway on the outskirts of Tokyo, Japan, Matou Ike stared down at the gruesome corpse on the ground.

The man's limbs had been twisted at irregular angles, and blood was oozing from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his jawline and pooling into a dark red stain.

He spoke in a flat tone, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

"Yeah, I even forced him to drink the charm potion I made, but I still couldn't get this guy to talk. It's really unexpected."

Medea floated beside Matou Pond, her tone languid, as if she were evaluating a failed experiment.

Matou Ike crouched down, carefully examining the facial features and the marks of the fractures on the corpse.

He gently touched the still-wet blood with his finger and whispered:

“I had anticipated this possibility, but this guy’s condition is still a bit strange. A normal self-imposed spell should not have this effect—not only does it restrict his movements, but it also directly devours his soul and will. In this way, even necromancy cannot be used.”

He looked up at Medea, a thoughtful expression on his face. "The preparations were quite thorough, but there are still flaws."

"Hmm." Medea twirled a strand of hair with her fingertip, her tone still relaxed. "That's true. After all, I can't think of anything else that could cause such a self-imposed phenomenon other than divine intervention."

Matou Ike stood up, clapped his hands, and casually wiped the remaining bloodstains from his fingertips onto the wall next to him.

He took a bright red spark—an ant—from his pocket and flicked it, which landed on the corpse on the ground.

"puff!"

The sparks exploded instantly, and flames devoured the flesh and blood like living things, filling the air with the pungent smell of burning and decay.

"Since we can't use it, let's just get rid of it completely," Matou Ike said casually, as if he were just burning a piece of waste paper.

"Judging from the magic this guy uses, he should be some kind of magician, whose specialty is only fighting. It seems like there's an organization pulling the strings behind the scenes."

Matou Ike waited for the flames to slowly burn out before speaking again:

"However, they must have discovered our presence during this encounter, which is really a headache."

Medea smiled, her gently floating figure following behind. She glanced at a certain point in the sky and then said:

"Does your head really hurt? Would you like me to massage it for you?"

"Never mind, business comes first... Let's go, we've already found the next one..."

......

In a dark and damp basement, a crudely made machine was humming.

Its outer shell is mottled and rusty, and electrical current occasionally shows up, bursting out a few clusters of restless blue light, which makes people involuntarily think of an antique picked up from a junkyard.

However, if anyone draws a conclusion based on this, the answer can only be negative.

This machine was indeed used to transmit messages, but it was by no means an ordinary telegraph machine.

While traditional telegraph machines are simple and efficient, they are easily intercepted due to the exposure of their frequency bands. This device, however, is a special tool modified by a magician, its complexity exceeding the comprehension of ordinary people.

The pulsation and hissing of the current are not malfunctions, but rather specially designed protective signals.

Each "buzzing" sound contains a hidden message that is not transmitted in plaintext, but rather as a magical fluctuation mixed with the magical wavelengths generated by the electric current. Only receivers equipped with the appropriate decoding devices can correctly reconstruct the content.

The machine's structure itself has been enhanced by secret techniques. If it is forcibly dismantled or attempted to be deciphered, the magic circuit will automatically activate a destruction mechanism, annihilating the secrets along with the machine itself, leaving only a pile of charred scrap metal.

At this point, the current flowing on the machine surface gradually stabilizes.

With a rhythmic buzzing sound, a brief wavelength of magic was released into the air and disappeared into the dark, damp basement.

"Sizzle s ...

The repetitive crackling of electricity echoed in the basement, like a low, ominous death knell.

The person who stayed behind in front of the machine remained expressionless, intently watching the flashing lights and pulsating electrical fluctuations.

His fingers moved rapidly across the control panel on one side, adjusting the analysis frequency of the magic circuit to capture and reconstruct the transmitted intelligence content in the first instance.

A few seconds later, the lights dimmed and the buzzing stopped.

The machine, as if having completed its mission, gradually returned to silence, leaving only the guards standing by, expressionless, repeating in hushed tones:

"Number 27 has gone missing..."

After the rehearsal ended, the man raised his head, his brows furrowed slightly, and a subtle shadow flashed in his eyes.

"Damn it, we've only just arrived at our target location and one person is already dead..."

He gritted his teeth and whispered, his tone a mixture of resentment and anxiety.

"Oh dear, this isn't good news." A lazy voice came from a deserted corner, accompanied by a smirk and a mocking grin. "After all, you only have thirty people, and you haven't even had time to equip yourselves with proper weapons. It's such a waste to just throw one away like this, isn't it?"

The sound seemed to swirl in the air, then echoed with a playful ending.

He turned his head, his eyes coldly fixed on the source of the voice. Although there was nothing there, he knew that the speaker was there, or more accurately, "existed" there.

“Caster, are you that happy?” The man’s tone was filled with suppressed anger. “Don’t forget, if I die here, you will also disappear from this world.”

“Oh dear, how scary~” Caster’s voice carried a nonchalant laugh, the last syllable drawn out and flippant, “But I think you shouldn’t be focusing on me right now.”

His words carried a deeper meaning, like a deliberately drawn-out foreshadowing: "That machine I 'slightly' modified seems to have received new information again. Come on, guess whether it's good news or bad news?"

The person left behind sharpened their gaze and quickly turned to look at the machine. The old device was emitting an unstable hum, more rapid than before, with occasional blue arcs of electricity flickering on its surface, as if silently foreshadowing some strange message.

He didn't answer Caster's question, but walked directly to the machine and skillfully operated the control panel to analyze the latest transmitted content.

It's the nineteenth one that just reported "the twenty-seventh has lost contact".

"It's a Heroic Spirit! It's a Heroic Spirit! It's a Heroic Spirit! Don't use familiars! Don't use familiars! Don't use familiars! They can trace their origins through familiars..."

The intelligence report abruptly ended, and the wrinkles on the man's brow deepened further...

After a moment, he reconnected to the machine and issued commands to the other surviving members.

"Suspend the operation for now, and wait until the weapons are completed before proceeding with the revenge..."

Chapter 377 Imperial Magic Corps and the Evil Tree (4k)

Inside a hotel room, dim lighting cast shadows on the walls.

Matou Ike stood in the center of the room, looking down at the bat-shaped familiar that had been shot down at his feet, a hint of emotion on his face.

"Have you realized it yet?" he muttered to himself. "That's really fast, they've only found the second one..."

The familiar's corpse beneath their feet had turned into a pool of black slime, slowly seeping into the carpet and emitting a nauseating stench.

Matou Ike didn't care about any of that. He simply raised his hand and picked up a small cluster of residual magical traces with his fingertips, seemingly analyzing his opponent's methods.

"This is a projection anti-surveillance technique you learned from Orange, isn't it?" Medea's figure appeared beside her, arms crossed, her gaze sweeping over the marks on the ground, her tone carrying a hint of judgment.

"Projecting onto the retina and then tracing the projection back to one's own location is a truly mind-blowing magic trick. However, it's only suitable for this kind of 'instant kill'. If used repeatedly, it's only a matter of time before it's noticed."

Matou Ike shrugged, his tone somewhat indifferent:

"You make it sound so easy. This kind of 'snap kill' is violent, but the effect is immediate. It can quickly narrow down the scope, which is much better than wandering around aimlessly."

He kicked away the remaining liquid on the ground, turned around and walked to the window, pulled back a corner of the curtain, and gazed at the city night view illuminated by lights, quickly sorting through the information he had just extracted from this "living" person.

This second infiltrator, like the first, carries a self-imposed compulsion deep within his soul bearing the mark of an evil god. It seems that any attempt to pry into their secrets will trigger this deeply buried layer of protection.

This time, however, Matou Ike had Medea summon her Noble Phantasm ahead of time.

This prevented the corpse behind them from destroying its own soul and consciousness upon realizing their presence.

After some sorting, Matou Ike finally extracted several key points from the remaining memories of this "survivor," and what surprised him the most was the identities of these people.

These magicians belong to a rather strange-sounding organization—the "Imperial Magic Order".

In this day and age, it's hard to imagine any magicians' organization being directly linked to a country, especially one that so openly reveals its background in its name.

However, as Matouchi continued to delve deeper into the analysis, the information he obtained became even more unbelievable.

“‘Imperial Magic Guild’ is actually…” He repeated the content that surfaced in his memory in a low voice, his brows gradually furrowing.

The organization's origins can be traced back to World War II, when it was secretly formed by the dictator "Little Mustache," who left a deep mark on history.

With an extremely utilitarian perspective, he viewed magic as a war resource that could be conscripted, and set about building this legion of magicians.

Their mission sounds extremely aggressive—to hunt down magician families that were originally part of the opposing faction in regions that were devastated by the "blitzkrieg" in the war.

Now, having lost their leader, they have become a mercenary organization employed by a family within the Magic Association.

A family called the World Tree.

I also know a bit about the Matouike family.

This is a family of "politicians" who prefer to engage in political activities within the Clock Tower to gain more benefits and power than to study magic.

Currently, there are three major noble families, with twenty related clans. However, although the history of the Yggdrasil Clan is certainly not short, they do not belong to any of these families and have no connection whatsoever with them.

They abandoned the usual approach... Instead of relying on accumulating magicians' bloodlines generation after generation and studying the magic system chosen by the first generation, they used other methods to gather magicians who joined the clan in a shallow but broad way.

Those chosen by them are either groups with short histories and weakened magic circuits, groups that have already begun to decline and whose magic circuits will gradually weaken with each generation, groups that have failed and withered away in power struggles, or magicians who are being punished by the Magic Association and are being offered a bounty.

In other words, they are all a group of people who, despite being far from the center of the Magic Association, have not given up on their goal of reaching the Root.

The middle names of the Yggdrasil clan are all names of clans that were absorbed in the past. They don't even have a unified magic crest, and thus continue to inherit the magic crests of their past clans.