Magician in Type-Moon

Page 242

“This is an omen,” he whispered, as if responding to the images swirling underground.

"Control of this land is about to change hands."

Irmia lowered her head slightly, looking at the snow beneath her feet.

The surface of the snow suddenly became transparent, and she seemed to see the veins of the underground world through a mirror—those complex and twisted flows, like roots extending and entwining in disorder.

"Shall we go over there?" Wen Bingyongli asked.

“…Of course I have to go and see.” Calleber stared at the falling star, somewhat dazed, as if he had finally understood something…

......

The grand magic unleashed by the Celestial Sovereign even shattered the son of Fuhailin.

Meanwhile, the situation on the Hanseatic side also changed.

"As expected? I knew this operation was suspicious in every way."

He stood in the middle of a broken branch of an ice tree, the chainsaw still whirring.

Hansa kicked away the broken branches blocking his way, and his body crackled with electricity.

Panting heavily, he raised his hand to wipe away the liquid mixed with blood and engine oil, but the skin on the back of his hand had already lost much of its sensation.

He frowned and squinted at the distance.

The moment the demonic energy emanating from the son of Fuhailin was completely blasted away, the surrounding wind and snow seemed to be torn apart as well.

The gale stopped for a moment, as if the whole world had paused its breath.

"Is it the Magic Association? They can't help but get involved in anything like this."

Hansa uttered what sounded like a complaint, clenching his teeth as he felt the electronic organs in his chest overheating from overload.

He glanced down at his right arm; the muscles and mechanical parts were completely burned, and electrical current flickered irregularly between the severed nerve interfaces.

Hansa chuckled softly and said self-deprecatingly, "Even if I were to give up my humanity, I'd be at my breaking point."

The next instant—Hansa's figure vanished without a trace.

As the clock hands moved toward the next mark, Hansa suddenly appeared a dozen meters away.

He has already reached the source tree of the son of Fuhailin.

Although he kept saying things like, "Maybe we should just run away."

But the body moves forward automatically.

The chainsaw roared again, emitting a whistling sound that tore through the air.

Hansa's figure seemed to transform into a black lightning bolt, instantly traversing more than ten meters and closing in on the Tree of Origin.

The branches of the giant tree twisted and turned like countless tentacles, trying to stop his progress.

However, without the supply of spiritual veins, Fu Hailin's son was nothing more than an ordinary high-ranking dead disciple.

The branches appeared sluggish and powerless, their movements becoming intermittent, as if they were the last struggle of something dying.

They continued to try to entangle Hansa, but lacking the strength to support them, they collapsed limply to the ground, as if their bones had been drained.

The Hansa gave them no chance to catch their breath.

The chainsaw spun at high speed, the roar of the turbine tearing through the cold wind, the scorching blades slicing through the roots and bark of the giant tree, turning the writhing branches into shreds.

hiss-

The tree trunk split open, and the icy blue sap exposed inside gushed out like pus, smelling foul and scalding hot.

But Hansa did not back down, and swung his chainsaw fiercely, cutting down the remaining obstacles one by one.

"Ya yi ya— ah ah— yi ya ya—!!"

It was less the sound of branches rubbing against each other and more like a wail. The sound made one think that if you stripped away a person's skin and flesh and rubbed bones together, they would probably scream like that.

Hansa's body nimbly flipped in mid-air, dodging the sweeping ice thorn.

boom!

The ice spike crashed into the ground like a hammer shattering rocks, and snow mist and ice fragments scattered in all directions.

Are you begging for mercy?

Hansa, leaning on his chainsaw, tilted his head and asked.

"Ya-ee-!!"

The mournful cries grew increasingly shrill, like a lament on the eve of the apocalypse, sharp and frantic. In its despair at losing the lifeblood it was being fed, the giant tree stubbornly clung to life.

The sound pierced the eardrums, like metal scraping, sending chills down one's spine.

Hansa leaped up again, and as he flipped in mid-air, the roar of the chainsaw rose simultaneously. With the momentum of his descent, he plummeted straight towards the Tree of Origin like a shooting star.

Buzz—buzz—!

The chainsaw's teeth spun wildly, tearing through the air and evaporating the snowflakes into white mist.

"Even if you want to beg for mercy, you'd better learn human language first, you bastard!"

Both the Dead Apostles and the humans are now at their last gasp.

It has come to this point.

Dignity or meaning, and such things, need not be entrusted to inanimate objects.

Close combat, charge, fight!

He closed in, his steps as swift as the wind, and almost the instant he crossed the ice thorns, he took a deep lunge.

The snow exploded beneath his feet. He crouched low, his head brushing against the side of the ice spikes. The biting wind swept across his neck like the cold whisper of death.

"ha--!!"

Hansa pulled down with both hands, the chainsaw's teeth slashing at the branches ahead with compressed power.

Click——! !

That was the sound of tearing through steel.

The branches, along with the frost, were completely shattered, as if even the hardest modern alloys were as fragile as tofu.

Each swing of the chainsaw is accompanied by flying debris and evaporating mist.

Kill kill kill!

He hated war, yet felt an indescribable satisfaction in the fighting. His conflicted heart found balance at this moment, and he made no attempt to hide his joy, revealing a ferocious smile on his face.

Hansa gripped the chainsaw tightly with both hands, his eyes filled with a coldness like an icy blade.

Step back slightly, lower your center of gravity, and compress your body like a spring, making sure that every gear in your body is still turning and meshing.

The remaining 30% of flesh and blood in his body trembled slightly, not from exhaustion, but from pure excitement.

Buzz—buzz buzz buzz!

The roar of the chainsaw exploded in the air, as if echoing the Hanseatic League's frenzied fighting spirit, synchronized with every breath of the battle.

"come……"

He licked the blood-stained crack at the corner of his mouth, a ferocious smile spreading across his face, a smile like the heartfelt joy of a beast that has finally found its prey.

As if in response to the Hanseatic League, countless ice shards rose from the earth.

They shot straight up into the sky, piercing through the wind and snow.

Trees with trunks of solid ice and branches of bones grow on the snow-covered plains.

"Was that someone you killed?"

Looking at the scene before him, Hansa suddenly recalled an anecdote that his master had mentioned when he was giving him a crash course in history.

Vlad III, the King of Punishments.

To Romania, he was the greatest hero of Transylvania, while Turkish soldiers called him the Piercer out of fear.

But in the world, he is probably more famous by another name.

The Little Dragon Prince "Dracula"... or Count Dracula the Vampire.

By nailing people to sharp stakes, the soul is forever imprisoned between death and pain through the torture of piercing.

Hansa stood in the very center of the frost forest, his gaze sweeping over the newly grown "ice stump trees".

Each ice stake was incredibly sharp, much like the terrifying execution ground set up by the monarch named "Vlad" in the past.

The tree trunk is inlaid with a stark white skeleton, and the branches and leaves make a low rustling sound in the wind, like mourning or snickering.

"interesting."

Hansa wiped away the blood that had dripped onto his chin.

Icicles, branches, and bone fragments intertwined like sharp blades, and the sound of trees growing was like the crisp cracking of bones breaking and reforming.

The stakes, several meters long, swarmed towards Hansa in one go.

Hansa then slowly lifted the sanctified chainsaw and placed it horizontally in front of his chest.

He casually gripped the zipper on the chainsaw, which was used to power it, and said:

"Although I don't know if you can even understand this."

The hand gripping the zipper suddenly slid.

Buzzing buzzing buzzing buzzing————! ! !

The roar resumed.

The chill was torn to shreds by the sacred machinery, the surrounding ice and snow crumbled into fragments in the tremors, and even the air currents seemed to have nowhere to escape.

The trembling sound waves distorted and echoed in the air, like some kind of omen—

"Are you trying to intimidate me with fear now?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it pierced the depths of the wind and snow like a knife.

"Although I don't know what the greatest fear in this world is, the master craftsman Fujimoto who assembled this chainsaw for me told me about it."

"He said something like, 'Hansa, do you know what the demons of hell fear most?'"