Magician in Type-Moon

Page 598

Its collapse countdown has already been coldly set.

Its death knell is destined to be tolled mercilessly on this night, destined to be stained red with blood and flames, under the iron hooves of that "brigade" led by a young girl, burning with the will to destroy!

Dozens of dark figures, like solidified killing intent rising from the lake, completely enveloped the ancient castle that floated eerily on the dark lake water.

Fifty people.

This number itself is an anomaly in the Demon Realm, which the Dead Apostle Rubare has occupied for five hundred years, enough to shake the laws of the world—this is the first and last time in history that so many humans have set foot in this cursed land that should have been eternally isolated from the mortal world.

The cold, detached report, delivered with millisecond precision, traveled through the stagnant air via a magical circuit:

"Right Wing Team Three, barrier foundation intrusion complete."

"With the assistance of the left-wing commander, the search for the enemy within the city is complete."

"All teams, synchronize the magic circuit's second hand—10, 6, 3…0. Done. Notify the lieutenant to proceed according to the predetermined time coordinates."

The magicians surrounding the blood-red castle remained completely silent and undisturbed.

Their actions were perfectly synchronized, like the most precise killing machine. This group, devoid of individual will and forged into an impersonal iron wall, was none other than the CLONE Squad, the most feared elite force under the Mage's Association!

The fact that a mere fifty people are called a "large team" is not arrogance; on the contrary, it is more like a deep-seated and chilling humility.

"The entire lake's defensive spell has been fully analyzed and mastered. Barrier Reverse Phase Erosion Countdown: Half a quarter. If the 'Map Purification' protocol is executed, the final procedure can be initiated in one hour."

The battalion's adjutant, his voice as sharp as polished ice, precisely sought final tactical instructions from the only person beside him who could decide the fate of this place—the young girl.

Clear options —

Perfect Victory: Storm the castle, drag every vampire lurking within from the shadows, and ensure their complete annihilation without exception.

Absolute Annihilation: Abandoning contact combat, directly initiating the highest-level magical ritual to completely erase this cursed land along with everything that exists on it—the castle, the Dead Apostles, and even space itself—from both a physical and conceptual level.

The results are the same, but the efficiency and safety margins are vastly different.

Although the main force had laid an impenetrable trap with a flawless formation, their opponents were, after all, vampire nobles who had survived for hundreds of years, and their cunning and escape methods were difficult to predict. Ensuring absolute success? That was almost a pipe dream.

The "map purification" method, though extreme, perfectly aligns with CLONE's core operational principle of "thoroughness, efficiency, and leaving no future problems."

The association spent years arranging the location of this hidden demon's lair.

If a core leader like Rubare were to escape and infiltrate another unknown hideout, all the previous sacrifices and efforts would be in vain.

"Neither is necessary. Lieutenant, your suggestion itself is a disgrace."

The girl's voice rang out, not loud, but like an invisible hammer of law, instantly shattering the adjutant's cold chain of logic.

That kind of weighing of pros and cons was nothing but foolish cowardice in her eyes! This was by no means a meticulously calculated "suppression of heretics," but merely a "glorious pilgrimage" to demonstrate absolute power.

Even if one were to demonstrate power, the target would certainly not be someone like Rubalei, a nobody who hasn't even reached the threshold of the "Twenty-Seven Ancestors"—they are not worthy!

For these pathetic creatures lurking in the shadows, feeding on the lives of others, the only feeling that welled up in the girl's heart was a condescending compassion, like that of a god looking down upon the dust.

And this manifestation of compassion was that she personally crushed its existence completely!

“Begin.” Her command was succinct and absolute. “Your task is to seal off the outer walls. Ensure—not a single one escapes this castle that is about to become their tomb.”

"Lord Barthemello...you mean, you...entered alone?!" For the first time, the adjutant's voice showed an extremely subtle, almost shattering, wavering.

The large group of magicians were all concerned about this young girl—Bartholomew's master—

They possess an absolute, almost religious, level of trust.

They clearly understood that with her strength, eradicating the Rubare clan from its very roots would be no difficult task.

however--

Understanding the existence of this power is one thing.

Witnessing how and in what form this power descends upon the world and devours its target is a completely different matter!

For a large team, the most efficient method is often the best.

If the young girl—the head of Barthelon—claimed she would complete the "cleaning" of the castle all by herself in half an hour (about 7.5 minutes)...

So, if it were her CLONE team, known for its absolute efficiency, the whole process would probably take less than thirty seconds!

This is not conjecture, but an absolute judgment based on cold reality.

For Barthezello, the principle of battle has never been limited to the outcome of victory.

The process itself must be flawless, a "complete victory" as perfect as art! This is an ironclad rule that has long been flowing in the blood of this ancient and prestigious family!

"—There's a mistake."

The girl's voice, like an icicle piercing the frozen air, clearly echoed across the lakeside and pierced the hearts of every member of the team.

Her figure had already stepped onto the dark lake surface reflecting the eerie red moon. With each step she took, the lake water beneath her feet seemed to freeze into a path of ice crystals in fear.

"This is not a battle, it can't even be called a hunt."

She didn't turn her head, her voice carrying an indifferent detachment, as if looking down on the dust.

"This is merely a trivial 'trial'."

The cold words dissipated in the night wind.

The CLONE squadron, a steel torrent that would terrify any heretic, stood motionless like the most loyal statues at the edge of the blood-red lake.

Their gaze was fixed on the slender figure heading towards the castle, a figure that carried the weight of a destructive storm.

The girl walked alone toward the dark city gate that had never been defiled by human bodies for hundreds of years, a gate imbued with the endless arrogance and curses of the Dead Apostles.

There was no chanting, no gathering of energy, and not even a single superfluous movement.

She merely raised her fair, seemingly untouched wrist—and then, with a gesture so nonchalant it was almost insulting, as if brushing away a spiderweb—she gently struck forward.

"BOOM!!!"

That wasn't a loud noise from a physical collision!

That was the mournful cry of space itself, unable to bear the weight! The cursed gate, imbued with five hundred years of Dead Apostle magic and strong enough to withstand a battering ram, vanished the moment it touched the pure, primordial "force" contained within those slender fingertips—like an ice sculpture cast into the core of the sun.

It starts to disintegrate and evaporate at the molecular level!

The massive door, along with the ancient runes and defensive spells wrapped around it, offered not even a moment's resistance before being reduced to black dust, shimmering with the last embers, scattered across the sky in a silent flash of magical annihilation!

The girl's steps never faltered, she stepped across the boundary that was once a city gate but was now reduced to dust, and entered the cursed demon city.

“Occasional 'playfulness' is also our duty.” Her voice echoed clearly in the deathly silent castle foyer, carrying a strange, cold rhythm. “When hunting, we must do so with elegance and joy.”

however!

This declaration of "elegant playfulness" contrasts sharply with the flames burning deep within her eyes, creating a chilling and terrifying effect!

Her delicate, doll-like face, with its slender eyebrows, remained completely still.

It was eerily quiet.

But deep within those eyes, as deep and cold as a still pool—

A pure, extreme, icy hatred, seemingly capable of freezing time and space, is like a glacier that has been dormant for billions of years suddenly awakening, silently boiling and roaring with the posture of burning everything!

That wasn't anger directed at any particular individual, but rather a fundamental will to deny and purify the entire twisted existence of the vampire race!

"So--"

The corners of the girl's lips seemed to curve into a barely perceptible arc, yet enough to freeze the blood of any witness.

"let's start."

The ruler of Barthelon, treading a path of destruction paved with the ruins of the city gates, launched a one-sided, elegant, and deadly attack into the deeper, dark core of the castle, soaked in five hundred years of bloodshed.

—In the deepest part of the castle, in the main hall of the main building, which should symbolize supreme authority.

The being once known as "Dead Apostle Rubare" now resembles a wild beast driven to the brink of despair, covered in mud and blood, cowering in the shadows of a corner.

He was the eighteenth "prey" the girl encountered after entering this cursed city, and soon to be the last.

After a series of smooth "cleaning" actions, as if brushing away dust, the guy in front of them, who could barely muster a trace of magic, finally caused a barely perceptible ripple in this one-sided crushing defeat.

"Heh..." A very soft, yet sneer, like shattering ice crystals, escaped from the girl's nose.

Compared to those scumbags that weren't even "garbage" before, this could at least be considered... a "game"?

Of course, this still can't be called a "battle." But at least it prevented this "glorious pilgrimage" from completely turning into a drowsy garbage-cleaning trip.

"It's... utterly hideous."

The girl's voice flowed calmly, as if she were evaluating a poor-quality work of art.

Her scrutinizing gaze swept over the prey's face, contorted with fear and despair, and over the magical power within him, which, under the red moon's blessing, swelled futilely like a candle flickering in the wind.

"Having waited specifically for this 'red moon' night, and having absorbed the so-called 'peak of power'... is this all that's ultimately achieved—a struggle of this magnitude?"

She shook her head slightly, as if sighing over a tragedy that had wasted five hundred years of time.

"In the end, you are nothing more than a worm in human skin, greedily sucking blood. These long five hundred years have truly been... wasted."

Chapter 632 Outside the Clock Tower "3"

A night of the red moon!

For vampires, this crimson moon hanging in the sky is a sacred moment of surging power! It is their absolute domain! Even the most fanatical agents of the Holy Church, who specialize in hunting down heretics, know the taboo of this night and would never dare to set foot in the Dead Apostles' lair!

This is an ironclad rule deeply ingrained in the understanding of all beings on the mystical side!

however--

At this moment, standing in the center of the hall, bathed in the eerie red moonlight, is not a fearful prey, but a hunter who has shattered the taboo itself!

Barthezmello is in charge!

She not only chose this most dangerous night to descend, but also, with the ease of strolling in her own backyard, trampled this "taboo" along with Rubare's "peak" brimming with the power of the red moon, crushing them into dust!

Because she is—

Barthezmero!

She is a living miracle standing at the pinnacle of modern magic! She is an absolute embodiment that walks among men, capable of making any ancient mystery pale in comparison!

She is the sword of judgment that hangs above the heads of the twenty-seven Dead Apostles, radiating pure and destructive light!

Her very existence means that even a true monster ranked among the "Ancestors" possesses the absolute power to single-handedly defeat and annihilate it!

She is the purest "saint" of the Magic Association, whose sole creed is to purify all heresy!