Magician in Type-Moon

Page 326

"Could it actually succeed?"

Even having witnessed the mystery surrounding the Law and Politics Department's monarch, Barthelo Loreleia, Hanano Ryori found it difficult to accept this scene.

Orange's magic has reached a level that is difficult to summarize with the simple word "genius".

Did her magic touch?

Touching the stripped-off city of Adela.

"Ansuz, Reversed!"

The third phase spread rapidly to the area surrounding the castle.

One radiance connects with another, forming a complex and intricate matrix.

That matrix is ​​connected to other matrices, stacking up to form an even larger structure. Without damaging the existing matrix itself, it is reborn with entirely new meaning.

Each time Orange is reborn, the runes surrounding her cause changes in celestial phenomena.

An overwhelming force of magic washes over the world.

Rotate the massive composite matrix to send everything from this stripped city to its new master and return it to him.

"coming!"

Chapter 379 This Moment (4k)

The tremor struck suddenly, and the entire city of Peeling seemed to be shaken violently by an invisible giant hand.

Orange swayed, lost her footing, and almost fell.

At the same time, King II, Grey, and Reines all felt a sudden, strange attack. As if under some kind of curse, they hugged themselves, squatted down helplessly, and showed expressions of pain on their faces.

My right hand felt like it was on fire, a burning and stinging sensation coursing through my veins. The pain spread along my nerves, overwhelming all my senses with this intense discomfort, even slowing down my most basic reactions.

"What is this..." Weber began with difficulty, but before he could finish speaking, he felt as if his magic circuits had been severed, and even his ability to resist the invasion of magic was completely stripped away.

His hands braced on the ground, his vision began to blur rapidly, and the sounds around him seemed distant and muffled, as if separated by a thick curtain of water.

Reines gritted her teeth, trying to use anger to dispel the almost fatal pain, only to find that even that emotion was weakened to the point of insignificance. Gray, on the other hand, gripped the ground tightly, her knuckles white from the force, her whole body like a curled-up cub, barely managing to stay conscious.

Extremely filthy darkness silently spread around Orange, like a greedy beast opening its bloody maw to devour the surrounding space.

"Did we fail?" Reines' voice trembled slightly, but more than anything, it was filled with resentment.

"No." Orange replied calmly, her sharp gaze fixed on the darkness, a faint smile playing on her lips. "It should have been a success."

The moment she finished speaking, a low, grinding sound came from all around, like giant gears slowly turning, sending chills down one's spine. The air became incredibly heavy, as if compressed into a hard solid by an invisible force. The oppressive feeling went straight to the lungs, and each breath felt like swallowing a cold block of iron.

"The other side seems to be reacting to our actions." The Second Prince analyzed calmly, his expression solemn, but his eyes revealed a tactical sharpness.

"Given the strength of this barrier, if they really wanted to deal with us, their physical pressure would be enough to overwhelm us," he added slowly, his voice carrying an undeniable sense of threat.

"So, should we smash it, or wait a little longer?" Reines asked in a low voice, her tone clearly impatient, her gaze uneasily sweeping over the writhing darkness around her.

Orange didn't answer immediately. Instead, she raised her hand and gently waved her fingertips. Runes drew a soft arc in the air before transforming into a swaying lantern. The faint yet steady light, like an isolated island, enveloped the group in a dim, yellow glow.

“Wait a minute.” Orange’s gaze was deep, her voice calm yet revealing a hint of certainty. “Since the other party has taken the initiative to respond to our actions, let’s let it show its attitude and see what it wants to do.”

.........

Secret meeting place of the Imperial Magic Guild

In the heavily shadowed hall, dim candlelight flickered in the damp, chilly air, illuminating the intelligence reports hanging on the walls:

The city's power distribution, spiritual vein nodes, and complex runic markings are displayed. At the very center stands a sand table, meticulously recreating the city's terrain and magical layout.

In front of the sand table stood a middle-aged man wearing a dark green trench coat. His face was hidden in the cloak and shadows, only his deep, abyss-like eyes revealed a sense of oppression.

"How is the guiding pattern?" His deep voice slowly escaped his lips, not loud, but with an undeniable quality.

The subordinate, who had just entered the hall, bowed slightly, his voice tinged with hesitation: "Most of the patterns have successfully activated, but..."

"But what?" The man's tone remained calm, yet a hint of dangerous chill emanated from it.

"All the patterns related to the city's spiritual veins have been cleared away, without exception," the subordinate reported, bowing his head, a layer of cold sweat beading on his forehead.

A brief silence fell over the hall, as if time had frozen at that moment.

"Without exception?" the man repeated softly, his tone completely flat, yet each word seemed to carry immense weight.

“Yes, our people have tried to overwrite and rebuild multiple times, but they can’t preserve the patterns no matter what.” The subordinate’s voice trembled slightly. “It’s as if someone was prepared in advance; all the spiritual vein nodes have been completely destroyed.”

The man was silent for a moment, then tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest of the chair, producing a clear rhythmic sound.

"What about the armament situation?"

The subordinate immediately straightened up, his tone becoming more reassuring:

"Everything is ready and everyone is on standby. They can act at your command."

The man chuckled, a hint of sarcasm in his deep voice: "Then let's go out and see if the Empire's warriors still have their former glory."

After he finished speaking, he slowly placed his hands on the edge of the sand table, bent slightly, like a cheetah poised to pounce, and stared at the area marked with the hostile forces on the sand table. The dim candlelight outlined his face with a mixture of shadow and light, making his expression even more sinister.

"Give the order to assemble everyone." He straightened up and turned to his subordinate beside him. "Tonight, no one will leave with clean hands."

The subordinate obeyed and quickly withdrew. The hall door closed slowly behind him, emitting a dull echo, like the overture before a bugle call.

The man straightened his trench coat, put his hands in his pockets, and slowly walked towards the door.

His footsteps echoed in the empty hall.

He stopped at the door, glanced back at the sand table, and his eyes were as sharp as a knife.

“Let those guys understand,” he said in a low voice, his tone as cold as the north wind, “that the Empire has never truly fallen, but is merely waiting for the opportunity to regain its glory.”

After saying that, he pushed open the door and walked into the night, his figure gradually disappearing into the dim light.

The man, having reached the depths of darkness, paused before the wall, unable to move forward.

He extended his right hand, which displayed the Command Spell, and pressed the switch to turn on the room's lights.

Then, appearing in the room that suddenly returned to light was—

A large group of people in black uniforms lined up on both sides of the spacious room.

Although they wear black uniforms, they are not Japanese school uniforms—instead, they are characterized by the equipment worn at the waist, making them a symbol of power for this group.

The team consists of approximately thirty magicians, randomly mixed with men.

They were clad in imposing, formal uniforms—each holding a different type of equipment.

The uniformed men, resolute and expressionless, each held a sword, bow, shield, gun, chain, sickle, club, and other items with serious expressions.

Moreover, he still carried a pistol at his waist.

This scene has long surpassed the label of "inappropriate" and even gives a comical impression.

However—if a magician with even a little talent saw this, he would not only laugh, but would surely faint.

The weapons they held exuded a power that blended magic and heroism, almost eroding the atmosphere that filled the room.

Those treasures were all fakes.

However, its power surpasses that of legend.

Looking out at the overwhelmingly disjointed lines of people standing side by side on either side—

The man, a current officer of the now-deceased Imperial Magic Order, spread his hands and declared loudly:

"Even though it's a cheap line, I still want to say it—"

He paused for a moment, his deep gaze sweeping over every face before him.

“In the past two days, we have lost two compatriots who shared the same vision as us.” He said, his tone not softened by grief, but rather carried a cold firmness. “This is my shame, but their honor.”

Upon hearing this, everyone reacted differently. Some lowered their heads and clenched their fists, while others straightened their backs, a new flame igniting in their eyes.

"The place where they fell is our place of shame," the man's voice rose, "but their blood will also be the beacon guiding our way forward!"

He lowered his hands, his eyes sharp as blades: "We were once the Imperial Magic Guild, erased from history and forgotten by the world, but we are still alive."

"As an Imperial soldier, I assure you; as a magician, I make a promise to you—"

"The glory of the empire will be restored by us."

Upon hearing this, the magicians' team stomped their feet in unison, saluting in perfect coordination the magician who was both their master and their teacher.

"Very well, let's begin, let's begin this long-awaited bloody battle."

.........

After the magician left, crisp applause rang out in the room, abruptly breaking the silence.

The sergeant major remained standing in place, without turning around, and said in a low voice, "What are you doing here?"

His voice was like a sharp blade, cutting through the air, full of disgust and disdain, as if it could crush the soul of the coward.

The person who gave the applause slowly peeked out from the shadows in a corner of the room, a cryptic smile on their face.

"Although you are my Master, it still hurts me a little to be disliked by you like this." The voice was playful yet tinged with a hint of ease, which was the signature tone of Caster Alexandre Dumas.

The sergeant major did not turn around, his tone as cold as frost: "If you're just here for amusement, get out of here right now."

"Just for fun?" Alexandre Dumas chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "I'm here for art. As a writer, how can I ignore such a dramatic scene?"

"Stop talking nonsense, what exactly do you want?" The sergeant's tone grew increasingly impatient, his fingers clenching slightly, as if suppressing his inner anger.

Alexandre Dumas, however, seemed not to hear, leaning leisurely against the wall as if enjoying a captivating drama:

"It's nothing. I was just really fascinated by the conflicting emotions I felt when I saw a great sergeant sending his soldiers on a mission that was doomed to fail. The intense clash between loyalty and the harsh reality in your heart was a unique and irreplaceable beauty."

The sergeant clenched his fist tighter and said in a low voice, "My feelings are none of your business."

“You’re wrong, Master.” Alexandre Dumas raised his head, his smile deepening. “Your heart is intimately connected to mine. For a writer, it is an endless source of inspiration.”

A moment of silence fell over the air. The sergeant took a deep breath, seemingly suppressing his anger: "If you don't want to disappear right now, shut your mouth and stay put."

Alexandre Dumas shrugged.

"Don't be in such a hurry, Master," he said in an exaggerated tone, spreading his arms wide. "I gave up beautiful women and fine wine to come here specifically for you, how could I not have something important to say?"

The officer finally turned around, staring coldly at him without a trace of emotion in his eyes: "Then get to the point, don't waste time."

Dumas feigned being stung, clutching his chest with one hand and sighing deeply: "Alas, your indifference has truly broken the heart of this writer."