Magician in Type-Moon

Page 518

"If you can handle the shock of a wild horse."

The next second, Reines gently leaned her weight against his back. The ease with which she moved stemmed from the tacit understanding that the two had long been accustomed to.

The boy leaped up without hesitation, as if she were nothing more than a feather. He jumped onto the giant beetle's back and then climbed up the nearby earthen wall.

Unlike ordinary walking, he did not use his feet, but instead bent his ten fingers into hooks and used magic to condense translucent claws, which he then used to nail into the gaps between the earthen walls.

Spin crawled on all fours, his body clinging to the earthen wall, climbing along the irregular ground like a nocturnal beast, and even occasionally getting close to the ceiling.

"You're really quick-witted."

Reines murmured softly, noticing that the boy even used a magically extended tail to wrap around her waist, stabilizing her center of gravity as she moved at a height.

The tolimamatungsten stretches into thin sheets, clinging tightly to the earthen wall, following it like a shadow, concealing its own aura.

The air was moving slightly.

The area was downwind, which is why Spencer was able to detect the unusual smell first.

The two moved a short distance silently, and suddenly, even Reines noticed something unusual.

"That is……"

She looked ahead, her brows furrowed.

The space is swaying.

Initially, the visual sensation reminded her of the heat waves rising from the ground in spring and summer—but it was clearly late autumn, and the ground wasn't damp or hot.

There are no seasons here, no wind, no sun. The ground temperature is slightly cool, and it is isolated from the outside world.

Therefore, it was definitely not an air disturbance caused by temperature.

It's not a distortion of light.

It cannot even be explained by "darkness".

That area wasn't "invisible," but rather "unperceptible."

The vision that the two relied on to construct through light was stripped away by some strange law.

"……crack?"

Reines blurted it out.

This is not just some kind of sensation or illusion, but the reality confirmed by the magic eye.

The fissure in Albion, the tomb of spirits—one of the four known mysterious entrances that should have been hidden dozens of levels beneath London—has opened here.

Spencer turned his head sharply, his eyes wary and intense.

The soil beside the crack was crushed, scattering mud and water everywhere. A huge, heavy chariot was slowly driving out of the crack, the thunderous sound of its wheels shaking the silent underground.

That was not a modern steel war machine.

Rather, it is an echo from history—ancient chariots, pulled by galloping horses, were used to break through the ranks of infantry and the ferocious beasts of the battlefield.

However, at this moment, what is pulling the wheels is no longer flesh and blood.

It is a dragon made solely of bones.

Lightning crackled around the skeleton of each skeletal dragon, sparks bursting from its hooves as they touched the ground. The electric light flowed as if it were a tangible substance, and its aura was permeated with the heavy weight of death and demonic energy.

The entire chariot was surrounded by a chilling purple thunder, like the chariot of Thor's judgment.

“Noble Phantasm…” Reines murmured as a description she had seen in ancient texts flashed through her mind, “The Wheel of Divine Might.”

She remembered the name, and she also remembered its owner—Iskandar the Conqueror.

However, the person standing on the vehicle was not that heroic spirit.

"...Ah, you've come?"

A steady, amused voice, like that of an anvil, came from afar, piercing through the magical wind pressure and reaching the ears that were gradually regaining their hearing.

The woman who appeared on the chariot was exceptionally beautiful.

She was about twenty years old, tall and elegant. She didn't deliberately flaunt herself, but seemed to possess an overwhelming aura of authority, and even when standing on the chariot at the top of the train, she moved as if walking on flat ground.

Her neatly trimmed black hair fluttered slightly with the magical energy in the air, and her captivating eyes, a blend of gold and silver, were mesmerizing.

She wore light armor made of close-fitting leather and metal, with a short straight sword hanging at her waist. It looked simple, but it revealed a strong sense of combat prowess.

Behind her stood Hartles.

Her long, crimson hair surged like flames, but he casually held it down.

The two stood atop the chariot, as if it were their natural place. The pairing was seamless, their unspoken understanding chilling.

“That’s wonderful,” the woman said with a smile. “I have already expressed my gratitude to my master for giving me this battlefield. If you hadn’t come, I would have really become a fool.”

But her tone wasn't directed at Reines and Spence.

The surrounding scenery gradually came into view.

After the beetles came many more monsters that had already perished.

Those bizarrely shaped creatures, which seemed to have originated from the haunted Albion—mutated apes, sharks that swam on land, snails with swollen shells—were all dead.

In particular, one of the heavy bio-armored suits was cleaved diagonally, the cut resembling a rock wall dismembered by a gale, which was quite alarming.

This is a destructive force beyond human capabilities.

A "familiar" that is even deeper than a Heroic Spirit.

Summoned from the Throne of Heroes, an existence that even necromancy cannot decipher—the Boundary Recording Tape.

She made a call to action.

She said, "If you're there, show yourself quickly."

"...I'm sorry, Princess."

Spencer whispered, releasing the grappling hooks stuck in the ceiling, preparing to fall with Reines.

"--Wait a minute."

Reines whispered a warning. Her voice was so low it was almost entirely conveyed through magic.

"It seems like she's not looking for us."

Her sensitive magic eyes finally caught a stinging echo unlike that of a Heroic Spirit.

A faint magical glow escaped from behind the crack, weak yet sharp as a needle. It wasn't the aura of the woman before them, but that of another lurking being.

For a fleeting moment, Hartres smiled behind the imposter.

"Well, the timing is really bad." He spread his hands, as if mocking himself to the heavens.

“I originally thought the monarch wouldn’t be here, but I still ran into you… No, this can’t be a coincidence.”

Reines struggled to suppress the tremors in her body, almost making a sound.

Her brain was already saturated.

Development, battles, rifts, boundary recording tapes... and now this figure.

"Haha, I originally came here to ask for a pack of cigarettes back."

A light, cheerful voice rang out from the depths of darkness.

It was an orange with a certain fiery quality.

orange.

Emerging from the darkness was Aozaki Touko.

A white shirt, jacket, and glasses remained tucked into his breast pocket. A delicate mayfly perched on his shoulder, his familiar resembling a sculpted crystal work of art.

She stood there, as if she had foreseen all of this, a smile playing on her lips as she gazed at the master and servant.

An understatement.

But it seems as if this is announcing the start of a new act.

One is the Boundary Record Belt—one of the foundations of human history, inscribed on the Throne of Heroes, a warrior whose existence is so profound that even necromancy cannot decipher it.

On one side is the Grand Puppeteer—the pinnacle of the modern magic system, a female magician who was once designated as a sealer and walks between technology and mystery.

Their very existence is a mystery within a mystery, passed down as legend in the world of magic.

Even the appearance of just one person would be enough to shake the clock tower. Now, the two of them appear side by side, as if history and modernity, myth and science, have met underground, creating an extraordinary event that cannot be recorded or reproduced.

"This is the first time I'm formally greeting you, Miss Aozaki."

From behind the heroic spirit, Hartres leaned forward slightly and bowed. His movements were unhurried, as if he were facing not just a formidable enemy, but a worthy colleague.

Faced with this courtesy, Aozaki Touko stopped in her tracks. She did not return the greeting, but maintained a safe distance and spoke calmly.

“I heard of Dr. Hartless back when I was still in college. At that time, I hardly studied modern magic, which is a bit of a pity now... But thanks to you, I saw a very interesting sight today.”

She looked around.

Hartres tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement on his face.

"You mean the rift leading to Albion?"

"Don't play dumb, former dean of studies."

Orange's tone suddenly hardened, her gaze sharp as a knife.

“You didn’t wander in here by accident; you deliberately brought your treasures with you. The rift is just one aspect of the problem. You know the true nature of this space far better than I do. Don’t tell me you just happened to be here.”

After saying this, she slowly moved around to Hartres' side, as if trying to unravel the truth from his expression and the cracks beneath his mask.

She wasn't questioning her.

She was verifying a fact she had already realized.

This increasingly aggressive attitude also means:

Even though the other party was a magician who stood shoulder to shoulder with Heroic Spirits, she was not afraid.

This is a clash between two "alien" beings, beings that cannot be categorized into the modern system or fully recorded in human history, engaging in a close-quarters dialogue in this underground world where spiritual veins surge.

Chapter 574 Negotiation (4k)