Magician in Type-Moon

Page 553

The magic power consumed at this moment reduces the possibility of survival in future "battles".

Therefore, they all chose to minimize consumption and keep all protection to a minimum.

They reached a consensus without discussion.

This is the price to pay for entering the "ancient heart".

We descended for an unknown period of time. Until one moment—the air changed.

"...The air has changed."

The first to speak was Matouchi.

His voice was exceptionally clear during his gliding flight, as if tearing a rift through the darkness. He stretched out a hand, and five flying insects, like radiant crystals, immediately swirled around his fingertip.

—That was a "sensory marker" he had placed there. The spirit insect sensed the anomaly in the path.

“From here onwards, there is an area that even the known records of Albion’s Tomb could not fully describe.”

Before he finished speaking, his body accelerated its descent like a meteor, the wind pressure whipping his long hair, but his golden pupils remained firmly locked in the darkness.

"Then... we're almost at the 'Ancient Heart'."

That was their final destination.

It is the deepest layer of Albion, the center of Hartres's rituals—and the core nerve of the entire structural magic.

Suddenly, Matou Ike clicked her tongue lightly.

"...Did you miss it?"

The low muttering to himself carried a rare hint of annoyance, causing Furu, who was gliding to one side, to tilt his head slightly.

"What happened?"

"I have just made contact with Lord El-Melloi II via a route."

"They started a few hours earlier than planned. That was the worst possible time."

Upon hearing this comment, Yvette's expression instantly tensed up.

Her voice was flat, yet it was like ice water poured into my consciousness:

"The clock tower opened the dam of the 'ancient heart,' right?"

The structure of the Tomb of Albion repels all "external magic".

The closer you get to the depths, the stronger it becomes; and the area where the "ancient heart" is located is almost completely sealed off, so much so that even sight and consciousness cannot reach in.

To break through that blockade, the Clock Tower Council would have to convene at a "special time"—

That is, there was only one exception: the "dike" was temporarily unlocked by a person with high authority in order to hold a coronation meeting.

in other words……

"--'Grand Order Resolution' has begun."

.........

Time slowly rewinds.

In this mining city buried beneath the surface of the spirit tomb, even though everything revolves around magic and research, dining facilities are still readily available.

The city's culture is clearly imported from London. Considering that London itself is one of the world's few multinational cities, this is not surprising.

After all, London is not only a gathering place for magicians from all over the world, but also for countless magic organizations that are opposed to each other, wary of each other, yet have no choice but to coexist.

This mining city is merely an underground extension of that city.

This also explains why you can see countless different magic styles, food cultures, and languages ​​intertwined here.

That's why the "coffee shop" written on the note seemed particularly unusual.

-- Dilapidated. Old. Even carrying a hint of a run-down Western.

A handful of guests sat silently in the corner, their identities—researchers, bounty hunters, or simply information brokers—were impossible to discern.

The table was made of wood, its surface covered with scratches and burn marks, as if it hadn't been maintained for a long time. The air was filled with dust and the smell of cold coffee.

A blackboard with a handwritten menu hangs in the corner, its age unknown, with even the top letters blurred by dust.

A girl wearing a hooded cloak quietly sat down near the bar. Her presence unexpectedly blended into the environment, almost to the point of being overlooked.

Incidentally, most citizens in the underground city are used to wearing hoods.

This is not for aesthetic reasons, but because the weather here is frequently changeable, with winds carrying sand blowing from time to time.

If the spores mixed in with the spores are inhaled, in severe cases, it can even lead to the growth of parasitic plants in the lungs.

That was a truly terrifying and magical sight—El-Melloi II couldn't help but think to himself with a forced smile.

"What's going on, Olga Marie?"

He stepped into the coffee shop, his gaze sweeping over the familiar yet unfamiliar figure.

“You’ve arrived, El-Melloi II. I thought you would just ignore that note.”

The voice, tinged with a slight smile, came from beneath the hood.

The girl from the Astrophysics Department, "Animusphia," slightly raised her head. In the dim light, her silver hair slipped from the edge of her hood, like starlight suddenly appearing in the night sky.

It's a quality that hasn't yet fully blossomed, yet already subtly exudes a powerful presence. It's likely that within five years, countless men—even magicians—will unconsciously make her the center of their world.

...Of course, this is on the premise that those magicians' brains are still relatively normal.

El-Melloi II shrugged, deliberately closed one eye, and retorted in his usual stomach-ache tone.

"After all, the last time I received one of those strange notes... was during that chaotic period when the previous head of the family passed away and I took over as the acting monarch of El-Melloi. If you want to say it's nostalgic, then so be it."

The moment Olga Marie lowered her eyes, her profile was hidden in the shadow cast by her hood, and her expression was so solemn that it was almost unfamiliar.

It was a calmness that seemed almost beyond her years, like a murmur in the long night rain.

It sent a chill down my spine.

However, that emotion vanished in an instant. She almost resolutely brushed away the shadow in her heart, and when she looked up again, her amber eyes had regained their usual sharpness—clear-headed, resolute, and unwavering.

“I have something to ask you,” she said softly.

His tone was calm, but his words were like knives.

She leaned closer and whispered to El-Melloi II:

"I'll just get straight to the point. El-Melloi...does he oppose the redevelopment plan for Albion?"

The unexpected direct approach made the Second Prince raise an eyebrow for a moment.

He raised a hand, as if trying to defuse the awkwardness, making a playful gesture. However, the girl opposite him didn't cooperate; her gaze grew colder and colder, sharp enough to pierce through any pretense.

So he had no choice but to awkwardly withdraw his hand.

Hmm, it seems this isn't the kind of occasion to joke around with.

"Because, isn't this a golden opportunity for you to make your fortune? And..."

Her tone was soft, yet every word struck the Second Prince's eardrums like a small hammer.

That's a good question—precise and to the point.

The Second Prince had assumed this topic would only be brought up during the formal Grand Order decision, but he never expected it to be raised first in this kind of place by this kind of person.

He glanced around instinctively, worried about being overheard by someone he shouldn't be. However, the air in the café remained thin and languid, and no one cast any extra glances his way.

Yes, Olga Marie had already set up a barrier. Although small in scale, its shielding effect was so precise that it was almost a model of excellence.

The Second Prince remained silent for a few seconds, as if in response to her frankness and also to reframe his words.

"It's pointless to be eliminated before you can rise to power."

He said it calmly, in a nonchalant tone, as if he were simply stating an obvious physical law.

Olga Marie's eyebrows twitched slightly, as if she were speaking to herself in a dialectical tone:

"However, Albion's redevelopment plan... is not, in itself, a matter of a struggle between aristocracy and democracy."

Very sharp criticism.

The leader of the democratic faction, Transpelio, proposed to reconstruct control over the Primordial Tomb through "redevelopment," thus giving this Grand Order decision a clear bias.

But in reality, neither aristocracy nor democracy has ever aimed at "redevelopment" itself.

Incidentally, Olga Marie added, seemingly casually:

"The monarch of the Law and Politics Department sent a letter from the previous ruler, saying that the Albion redevelopment plan should be stopped."

The Second Prince raised an eyebrow and tapped his finger lightly on the rim of the cup.

"The letter was sent by the previous leader... which means..."

“That’s right,” Olga Marie looked directly at him, her gaze unwavering. “This means that even if someone ignores that letter, they can still claim that they have not violated the will of the current monarch of the Department of Law and Politics.”

That's a chilling judgment.

This girl's way of thinking has become terrifyingly sophisticated, resembling a mature political tactic.

Of course, precisely because that letter came from the previous generation of leaders, the Department of Law and Politics had already anticipated the possibility that "someone might become a dissident."

Thus, this arrangement became watertight: it conveyed the position while avoiding a direct confrontation when refuted—even if someone disobeyed, it wouldn't tarnish the authority of the Department of Law and Politics.

As she casually analyzed the situation, a sharp light quietly ignited in her amber eyes.

“In that case, as long as it is clearly declared in the Grand Order that this does not fall under the opposition between aristocracy and democracy, that will be fine.” She said confidently, “The status of the Celestial Department Animusphia is no less than that of the Spirit Department Yuriffis.”

A logical progression that delivers a definitive conclusion.

"If we win the votes, the two of us can join forces and directly overturn the result of this Grand Prix decision."

His words were uttered without a trace of hesitation.

It's a belief. It's also a tactic.

The Second King did not respond immediately.

He simply lowered his eyes and fell into a brief moment of contemplation.

Perhaps it was to allow her to gather her thoughts for a moment, or perhaps it was to temper the intensity of their private conversation—

Just then, the barrier seemed to temporarily lose its effect, and a waiter quietly stepped forward and placed the food the two had ordered on the table.