Magician in Type-Moon

Page 243

I answered that he was an angel, but he shook his head and rambled on about a bunch of random things. I can't remember most of it now, I only remember...

He laughed at me and said, "It's a chainsaw, a chainsaw, Hansa! Once you pull the chainsaw, that roar will terrify any evil spirit or heretic!"

"Although I've always thought that guy has some mental issues and is more suited to comedic roles in artistic creation, I still want to ask—"

"Would you feel afraid after hearing this voice? Especially since you've already lost your spiritual veins?"

Hansa turned his head slightly and smiled at the ice tree in front of him.

In his hands, the chainsaw was like a wild beast ready to pounce, emitting a continuous, low hum.

"Did you hear that clearly?"

Hansa's smile had a wicked edge to it, as if he were making a bet with someone.

"—Eek! Tch—Go...die!!!"

From deep within the giant tree came a mournful roar.

It was as if resentment that had been suppressed for too long was bursting forth unrestrained from the core of the son of Fuhailin.

"Looks like that madman Fujimoto was right... You're really scared..."

The next moment, the tentacles regrouped and charged at Hansa again like a raging tide.

However, Hansa had no intention of retreating.

The light in his eyes was like that of a wolf that had been hunting for a long time; there was only the urge to pounce, no hesitation.

"come!"

He laughed loudly and raised the chainsaw high.

With a flick of his wrist, the chainsaw emitted a deep rumble once more.

The maniacal laughter and roaring sounds mingled together, as if the world was meant to be this chaotic and violent.

As the chainsaw crashed down, the first tentacle was instantly shredded, turning into scattered fragments like fragile glass.

Then came the second, the third—no matter how many there were, none could stop this all-sweeping blade.

That's right, that's it.

Those who wield violence can enslave their enemies by whipping them with fear.

During this process, you don't need to worry about your own injuries; just keep getting up and swinging your sword.

......

Caleb, Irmia, and Wen Bingyongli formed a triangle and surrounded the two figures.

What catches the eye is his striking combination of fiery red hair and fair skin, making it impossible to guess his age. I would probably accept any number that comes to mind, ranging from his twenties to his forties.

However, it was his radiant smile that was unforgettable for quite some time.

Because even though it was such a gentle and calm smile, it was frightening.

Beside him was another magician performing a spell. She was tall with snow-white, lustrous silver hair, amber eyes, and a ponytail tied in front of her chest.

Some are flawless.

Although it was the first time I had met the two people, their identities were easily confirmed as they were prominently marked on a list of members of the Holy Church.

This is the guy Calleber was talking about earlier.

“You did a good job, the deal was successful. Afterwards, I will transfer the management of this sacred land to the church. You can leave with that agent. He is a brave warrior who single-handedly defeated a superior dead apostle.”

The red-haired magician's voice was like a gentle breeze in the morning light, but the commanding tone in his words was somewhat grating.

As the voice faded, everyone noticed the broken body behind the magician, which was about to be buried by the snow.

It was Hanseatic League.

"Control of the spiritual land? What are you talking about?" Wen Bingyongli suddenly asked.

"Hmm, have you been kept in the dark? The Spirit Land refers to the land beneath your feet. As compensation for your defeat of the Son of Fuhai Forest, the ownership of the spiritual veins of this land will be transferred from the Magic Association to the Holy Church."

The red-haired magician Hartress said.

"Otherwise, this division of labor would be quite unfair to you, wouldn't it?"

"So that's it! No wonder the church would collude with you heretics! So that's why!"

Irmia replied, while glaring fiercely at Calleber beside her, the old man who hadn't mentioned this at all.

Chapter 300 Return (Part 2)

"Don't put it so harshly, it's just an equivalent exchange."

Hartres nodded slightly in acknowledgment, a graceful smile on his face.

"Equivalent exchange? Then what about the value you've taken?" Moon Byung-yong retorted without hesitation.

"The task of exterminating the son of Fu Hailin was originally the church's work. Now that they have acquired the sacred land, do you think you've gotten involved just for the remains of the son of Fu Hailin? But the remains of a mere high-ranking disciple shouldn't be enough to exchange for these things, right?"

"Hmm, it seems you're not willing to leave so peacefully without an explanation, is that right?"

Hartres nodded and looked at Wen Bingyongli with a calm and reserved gaze.

The atmosphere grew increasingly tense, and the cold wind and snow seemed to stand still due to their confrontation.

"You should know how the son of Fuhailin was born, right?"

Hartres suddenly reached out, and in his palm was a silver seed.

Wen Bingyongli squinted, staring at the silver seed.

The object looked like a dried-out shell, yet even its lingering fragrance exuded a distinct and intense magic.

Just how much magic did this crystal originally possess? It's enough to send shivers down your spine.

He suddenly remembered Caleb's words.

"—It is said that fully ripe fruit often bleeds."

"Some of these blood drops will turn into seeds, and after lying dormant underground for a while, they will choose to evolve in a way that is different from their original form."

...Is this the seed?

"The core of the Son of the Sea Forest," Hartres murmured, his fingertips gently stroking the seed as if caressing a delicate work of art. "All forests are born from it, and destroyed by it."

"Aside from its ability to grow and evolve into something different from its original form, this seed can also be used as a material for spirit summoning spells."

Hartres said calmly.

Spirit summoning?

This is not an unfamiliar term in either the Magic Association or the Holy Church. In fact, anything involving the occult cannot escape the concept of spirit possession.

So what can this seed, as the main ingredient in a spirit summoning spell, summon...?

There is only one answer.

Even Irmia could come up with that.

"You heretics, do you intend to drag out the true form of Fu Hailin, the seventh seat of the Twenty-Seven Ancestors of the Dead Apostles? Damn it, do you even know what level of disaster the Twenty-Seven Ancestors of the Dead Apostles are?"

“Oh, of course I know.” Hartres’ smile remained gentle, as if he were discussing the weather.

"However, I hope you can understand one thing: disasters are not always uncontrollable. We will naturally solve the troubles we create, and the Holy Church need not worry about that."

Irmia glared at him, her hands unconsciously clenching her hand guards, her knuckles turning slightly white from being covered in ash ingots.

“You’re all insane,” Moon Byung-yong-ri said coldly, her tone as ruthless as a knife.

"Can you control the summoning of the Twenty-Seven Dead Apostles—even if it's sealed or in a semi-manifested state? Especially as the controllers of the 'Fruit' principle, your magic is completely useless here."

Just then, Marisbury Animusfia, the Clock Tower monarch who had been standing silently beside the red-haired magician, suddenly spoke up.

A globe-like illusion appeared before the silver-haired man, with several faint rays of light flashing across its surface, seemingly reflecting the area surrounding England where they were currently located.

"Hartres, the ceremony is ready."

Before the words had even finished, a flash of cold light appeared, as if time and space had been severed in an instant.

The black priest's robes on Wen Bingyongli fluttered in the wind and snow. His hands produced two long blades from who-knows-where, their sharp edges like cold stars in the night, slicing through the silent air.

His target was very clear: not the silver seed, nor the two magicians a few feet in front of him, but Father Calleber, who had been silent beside him.

At the same time, Hartres had just finished speaking.

“Caleb, kill...they.”

But a flash of cold light passed by, and the two long blades moved like ghosts through the wind and snow, pointing straight at Father Calleber's vitals.

The blade's trajectory was so precise it was flawless, without a single superfluous movement.

Blood blossoms sprayed and bloomed haphazardly in the sky, staining a snow-covered landscape ravaged by the raging winds.

clang! clang!

The sound of metal clashing was like thunder, echoing through the wind and snow.

Caleb raised his hand slightly, and a thin-bladed black key appeared in his palm without him noticing.

He blocked the first fatal attack, but the second long blade still tore through the air, carrying an unstoppable killing intent.

Caleb's black keys deflected by just an inch, but blood still burst from his shoulder.

A deep bloodstain stretched along his collarbone, the blood soaking through his black priest's robes and dripping onto the snow, where the heat and cold air mingled and rose.

In a moment of astonishment, Calleber's eyes fell upon the spot.

Ice spikes, countless crisscrossing ice spikes, surged wildly from the void, layering and expanding like bubbles.

Time breaks down here.

Pulling fragments of the past into the future, projecting them onto this moment through the gaps in history.

The son of Fuhailin, who had been annihilated, seems to have reappeared.

The spear-like ice thorns suddenly tore through the air, piercing through nothingness towards Wen Bingyongli's chest.

“That’s really tough to kill, Calleber.”

Just as the ice thorn was about to pierce her chest, Wen Bingyongli sighed and then whispered a prayer.