Magician in Type-Moon

Page 646

The amber-colored whiskey in her hand swirled gently in the crystal-clear glass as she walked steadily, the ice cubes making a soft, crisp clinking sound.

Faced with this true giant of the Clock Tower walking towards him, even Matou Ike had to put aside his usual aloofness and leisurely demeanor.

"It's been a long time since I last greeted you, Lord Baruyeleta. I never expected that you would grace us with your presence."

“Hey, hey,” the old woman chuckled softly, her laughter like the rustling of dry fallen leaves, carrying the hoarseness of age and an unquestionable authority.

Her deeply wrinkled face wrinkled even more with her smile, but her eyes shone with an astonishing brightness, like an inextinguishable flame; the vitality and power she exuded were truly rare for someone her age.

“This is a big day for the family division,” she said, swirling the ice in her glass, her gaze sweeping meaningfully over Lord Byron in the crowd below, “No matter how busy I am.”

Her tone carried an air of self-assured control: "There's no way I wouldn't come."

"Hehe." She chuckled softly again, seemingly pleased with Matou Ike's greeting. Then, she made an extremely casual yet powerful movement—tilting her head back and drinking the remaining liquid in her glass in one gulp.

Almost at the same moment she put down her empty glass, an artificial life form dressed in a waiter's uniform, with eyes as empty as glass beads and movements so precise they were almost inhuman, appeared silently beside her, as if it had been planned beforehand, with several glasses of freshly poured wine on its tray.

Lord Eleanor Baluereta—casually picked up a new glass of whiskey, his posture relaxed yet exuding an undeniable sense of control.

The crystal glass, clear and translucent, began to spin leisurely once more in her steady hand, its surface marked by the passage of time. The amber liquid collided with the ice cubes, producing a soft, icy sound.

Her gaze, like a tangible probe, fell back on Matou Ike, her scrutiny carrying an undisguised, feline interest in toying with its prey.

“I just don’t know,” Eleanor’s voice was not loud, but hoarse with the patter of years, yet it clearly pierced through the background music of “Moonlight Serenade.”

"Why is our Mr. Matou, who has come from afar, suddenly interested in 'playing' in this... branch pond?"

Matouchi's deep gaze calmly met the monarch's sharp scrutiny.

The calm mask on his face remained unmoved, and his voice was like a deep, still pool, without a ripple:

"Of course there are things I want to obtain."

His answer was concise and direct, without any attempt to conceal anything, yet it also left absolutely no room for further investigation.

The moment he finished speaking, his gaze shifted naturally, as if casually, from Eleanor's face to the banquet hall below, still filled with elegantly dressed people, yet subtly shrouded in the lingering divine aura and monarchical pressure.

Who was Eleanor? She caught that extremely brief shift in Matou Ike's gaze almost the instant it moved. She didn't immediately ask, but simply followed the direction of Matou Ike's gaze, looking calmly in that direction.

There stood her younger relative from the branch family, Baron Baljereta Izeruma, leaning on his ebony cane, with a tall man of typical Germanic features.

The two appeared to be conversing, their demeanor displaying the aloofness and politeness typical of high society.

Byron maintained a polite smile, while the German man listened attentively with a slightly tilted head, his posture composed, and an antique-style sapphire ring on his finger occasionally flashed with a faint light under the lamp.

Eleanor instantly understood.

She knew perfectly well that the things her descendant from the branch family, who had inherited the Izeruma family name and ran the Twin Towers, had accumulated were absolutely not worthy of the attention of the man named "Matouchi" before her.

For him to step into this thorny territory at this sensitive moment, there can only be one possible goal—

That Germanic man.

Eleanor's knowing smile deepened, like a blade carving a deeper mark into leather. Her gaze returned to Matou Ike, sharp enough to pierce through his calm facade.

"Oh?" She gently swirled her glass, the sound of ice cubes hitting the glass clearly audible between them. "Now that we've found the 'target',"

She deliberately mimicked Matou Ike's earlier words, with a hint of amusement, "Why not just go up and 'give it a try'?"

Her gaze, like a tangible pressure, was fixed firmly on Matou Ike. "Hiding in this corner and watching isn't like you, young man."

She paused, as if mentioning it casually, but her tone suddenly took on a cold, "generous" quality befitting the highest authority in the Clock Tower:

“If you want to be… a little tougher,” Eleanor’s voice lowered slightly, carrying a chillingly suggestive power, “the Balyereta clan isn’t necessarily unable to… ‘do you a favor’.”

These words were like a boulder thrown into a calm lake! “Please do me a favor”—said by a clock tower monarch, the head of the Creation Department, the weight of which was enough to make any magician who heard it tremble.

This means that within the territory of Twin Towers Izeruma, with the tacit approval or even support of Balyeleta, an operation against that Germanic man would have unimaginable convenience and…

The cruel "rationality." It is a naked temptation, and a chilling test.

The lights in the banquet hall shimmered on the crystal chandeliers, while the melodious jazz music continued to flow gently in the air.

However, in the shadows of the second-floor corridor, the air seemed to solidify into cold amber. Eleanor Balyereta's eyes, burning with an inextinguishable flame, awaited Matou Ike's reaction, like a predator before its hunt.

The icy touch of the whiskey traveled through the glass, and together with the restless pulse emanating from the pseudo-treasure hidden in his sleeve, they intertwined in Matouike's senses, forming a silent alarm bell.

Chapter 671 Negotiation (4k)

“No need for that,” Matou Ike’s lips curved into a slight, distant, and cold smile, forming an expression that could almost be called a “smile,” but deep in his eyes was a deep, icy pool without any ripples. “I have other plans.”

His refusal was swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation or explanation.

It was as if a clock tower monarch had offered him a "convenience" that was enough to stir up a bloodbath in the world of magicians, but in his eyes it was nothing more than a cup of inferior wine that he could easily brush away.

Inolei Baruyereta's sharp eyes, like burning ashes, narrowed slightly, as if reassessing the depth of the man before him.

She wasn't angry at the refusal; she simply nodded very slightly, with a hint of understanding and a deeper sense of inquiry: "I see."

As if only now noticing the presence that had been quietly standing in the shadows beside Matou Ike, Inolai's gaze, like an invisible probe, slowly moved toward Arcueid.

The blonde girl's presence seemed to have been subtly "diluted" during the verbal exchange, and was only now truly "captured" by Inola.

Her gaze lingered for a moment on Arcueid's inhuman, pure, molten gold-red eyes, a fleeting, unreadable glint in them—was it surprise? Was it wariness?

She didn't delve deeper, but simply asked in her usual condescending, superior-like tone:

"Who is this?"

"Assistant." Matou Ike's answer was extremely concise, just two words. No name, no introduction, not even any extra embellishment.

He defined Arcueid's existence as a purely functional character.

"Really?" Inolei drawled out the last syllable, his tone clearly playful and disbelieving.

That knowing, knowing smile reappeared on her wrinkled face.

She took a small sip of the whiskey in her glass, the amber liquid sliding down her throat, leaving a burning sensation. Her gaze returned to Matou Ike, her words like a honey-coated venomous thorn:

“However, young man, don’t blame me for being nosy and offering a word of advice.” Her voice was lowered slightly, carrying an almost cold “kindness.”

"The Mage's Association now... even though it's focusing its main efforts on 'that place',"

She cleverly used a vague reference to encompass the biggest vortex in the current magic world, "but the one in charge right now is still 'that person'."

"That person"—the meaning is self-evident—is the current head of the Department of Law and Politics, and the most powerful figure in the Mage's Association on the surface.

Inole's reminder, though seemingly concerned, was in fact a warning: even when the association's top brass' attention was diverted to other important matters, the Legal and Political Department never relaxed its monitoring and discipline within its territory, especially regarding those involved with the Dead Apostles.

To flaunt such a presence in public is itself a huge risk.

Matou Ike's reaction was merely a very slight, almost perfunctory shrug.

The gesture carried an indifferent nonchalance, as if Inola was not referring to the highest ruler of the Magic Association, but to an insignificant passerby.

"Thank you for reminding me." His voice was flat and emotionless, revealing no gratitude or apprehension whatsoever, only an almost mechanical politeness.

A brief silence filled the air, with only the gentle strains of "Moonlight Serenade" playing in the banquet hall below, unable to dispel the silent struggle and probing in the second-floor corridor.

Inola turned the glass in her hand, the ice cubes clinking and swirling in the clear crystal, making a soft, tinkling sound, like an hourglass counting down.

Her sharp gaze swept back and forth between Matou Ike's calm, unwavering face and Arcueid's amber eyes, which held pure curiosity and seemed completely detached, before finally turning into a low, ambiguous hum.

"Heh..." She downed the rest of the wine in her glass in one gulp. The powerful presence of a monarch seemed to recede slightly like an invisible tide, yet it carried a hint of unfinished words.

"Well then, I wish you success in 'fishing out' what you want in the 'small pond' of the family division, Mr. Matou."

She deliberately repeated the words "small pond" and "fishing," the teasing and deeper meaning in her tone self-evident.

Having said that, she didn't linger. Like a queen inspecting her territory, she finished examining a corner of the hall, leaning on her ebony cane—a symbol of both power and inconvenience—turned around, and steadily blended into the magnificent lights and crowds of the banquet hall below.

Just as Inolei Balyereta's imposing figure merged into the dazzling lights of the banquet hall below, Arcueid, behind Matou Ike, spoke in her clear, melodious voice, tinged with a hint of innocent bewilderment:

"This guy is really impolite." There was no anger in her tone; it was more like stating an observed fact, like commenting on the weather.

Matou Ike's gaze remained fixed on the Germanic figure in the crowd below, and on Lord Byron beside him, who leaned on his cane. His back to Arcueid, his voice low and calm, carried a chilling wisdom:

"After all, he is the monarch of the Clock Tower and the head of Balyereta. Controlling the Creation Department itself represents reshaping."

He paused slightly, as if calculating invisible chips, "Moreover, this major move of 'the crown falling'... their clan should be able to reap huge benefits from it."

His tone carried a hint of cold感慨, as if he were stating a cold theorem.

"So what are you going to do?" Arcueid leaned forward, her golden hair almost brushing against Matou Ike's shoulder, her amber eyes curiously watching his profile. "Didn't she just say... she wouldn't 'cause trouble' for you?" She repeated Inore's "promise," which clearly carried a hint of testing and pressure, her tone tinged with innocent doubt.

Matou Ike's lips curled into a very faint, cold smile.

“Hmm,” his deep voice echoed in the dimly lit corridor on the second floor, “Now? How could we possibly alert them?”

His gaze, like an invisible chain, was firmly fixed on the blond, resolute Germanic man below, who wore a sapphire ring.

The other party seemed to be finishing a conversation with Bai Longqing, giving a slight nod in greeting, his movements steady, his eyes still sharp, even...

In the instant he raised his glass to take a sip, his hawk-like gaze, seemingly unintentional yet incredibly precise, swept over the shadowy corner of the second floor where Matou Pond was located!

“Moreover,” Matou Ike’s voice deepened, carrying a sense of dread as he faced a formidable opponent, “those two guys… should have already discovered us.”

This wasn't a guess, but a near-certain judgment. That seemingly casual exchange of glances was no accident. There was no panic, no surprise in those eyes, only a cold, assessing, and wary confirmation.

"Since they didn't flee immediately, or even deliberately avoid our sight,"

Matou Ike said slowly, word by word, "That proves... they have considerable confidence."

This confidence may stem from absolute self-assurance, from trust in the defenses of the Twin Towers Workshop, or perhaps... from a deeper, more dangerous reliance.

However, a chilling sense of bewilderment crept into Matouike's heart like a venomous snake.

How did they discover my tracking?

The "insects" he sent out for intelligence gathering—

Those familiars that have been specially modified and possess extremely high stealth and information transmission capabilities—their actions are so secretive that they are almost impossible to detect by conventional means.

Could it be... that they detected the 'insects' I released? Or even... reverse-engineered them?

This thought made Matou Ike's eyes suddenly narrow. If the other party possessed this level of countermeasures and technical capabilities, then the level of danger and the preparations behind it far exceeded his previous estimates.

Today's public appearance was itself a carefully planned "test".

He needed to confirm whether the other party had noticed his pursuit. And the other party's seemingly circuitous, yet actually clearly targeted, strange route during this period—

It's as if they already knew they were exposed to the Falcon's sight, yet they still calmly proceeded according to some predetermined script—that in itself is the clearest answer!

they know.

They had been waiting for him to come.