Magician in Type-Moon

Page 566

"Miss Aozaki Touko over there came to the same conclusion."

"Oh dear, you're turning the conversation back to me?"

Orange chuckled softly, a "here we go again" expression appearing on her face. She shrugged her shoulders slightly, her posture languid yet measured.

"However, I should also take on some responsibility."

She seemed to be talking to herself, yet also to everyone.

"—After all, I asked him. I asked Hartres himself."

She paused, her gaze drifting into the distance, as if returning to that memory.

"At the time, I simply asked him bluntly: 'Whose disciples were they?'"

"...What was Hartrace's answer?"

Inole pressed for an answer in a low voice.

He said, "I told them to dedicate their lives to the most brilliant things."

Orange's tone remained relaxed, as if she were reciting a line of poetry she had casually written down.

"'They had something to dedicate their lives to. Therefore—they received the result they deserved.'"

That was Hartres's answer.

There was no denial, no admission. It was simply his usual style, responding like the conclusion of a philosophy lecture.

"…………!"

Ashira's gaze flickered violently for a moment.

She didn't speak, but it was as if a needle had pierced the depths of her pupils; the silence brought a brief blankness.

For her, it wasn't just ordinary doubt, but a fact admitted by a Grand Magician himself—to deny it would only be seen as defying a ruling that was already irreversible.

She could never be so reckless.

"Assuming...that thing is true,"

She finally spoke again, her voice low and husky, but no longer frivolous.

"so what?"

Yes, that's her choice. Rather than trying to dismantle an argument, she opted to assert its harmlessness—a smarter strategy than denial. By neither admitting nor denying, she maintained a voice, ensuring that even if her position wasn't as strong as before, she wouldn't be completely excluded from the game.

"In the end, it is simply impossible to secretly assassinate my master, Dr. Hartrace."

She changed her tone, pointing out the problems one by one as if she were dissecting a structural diagram.

"He was the Minister of the major subjects, a rank high enough to report directly to the Council of Sovereigns. If he had died in London, a magical war of that scale could not have been concealed, and the Clock Tower would have noticed immediately."

She shifted the focus to the realities of the situation, attempting to steer the entire argument towards an "unrealizable hypothesis."

The situation has temporarily tilted, but has not yet completely reversed.

El-Melloi II was fully aware of the situation.

This offensive and defensive game is like walking a tightrope in mid-air—he must walk the entire length in one breath, while his opponent only needs to cut the rope at any point, and he will fall into an abyss.

Therefore, he nodded cautiously, making a gesture of agreement, while simultaneously casting a new poisoned hook in the same tone:

"You're right."

He tapped the table lightly with the tip of his right finger, his tone as if it were just an unintentional sigh.

"The clock tower does indeed monitor every inch of London's magical circuits. Assassination is theoretically possible, but there is never a perfect way to clean up the mess. Whenever magic is used, traces are always left behind. Especially with a magician like Dr. Hartrace, once a battle breaks out, it will definitely trigger a chain reaction."

"It's good that you understand this."

Ashira responded with a light laugh, as if she had won a small victory.

But she didn't know that the next sentence was the real main ingredient of the poison.

"but--"

The Second Prince's fingertips pressed against the edge of the round table once again.

This time, he no longer pretended to be nonchalant.

He said slowly:

“You have a place where no one will find you.”

He paused for a moment, making everyone at the table feel the heavy meaning behind his words.

Then, he looked up, his gaze landing precisely on Ashira's face, and declared, word by word:

"Didn't you personally 'invite' Dr. Hartrace to Albion, the mortuary, ten years ago?"

The air seemed to freeze.

"...So that's the organization that makes smuggling possible?"

Olga Marie spoke softly, her eyes widening slightly, as if even she was captivated by this cause-and-effect relationship.

El-Melloi II nodded slightly, his tone as steady as turning the pages of a book, yet each word pressed down on the other's throat:

“Yes. Just like Hartres used that unstable spatial rift underground in Sla, Ashira Mystras... you used a similar mechanism ten years ago.”

He looked around at everyone, his gaze finally settling on Ashira.

"After Kuro became a prized student, the other disciples left Hartres' side one after another. According to the information and traces I have compiled, you are the last to leave."

He paused for a moment, as if to remind her of that time when no one was there, and then slowly continued:

"Then, a reasonable guess is that you personally invited Dr. Hartrace as a 'thank you gift' before you left, to take him to the mortal tomb Albion."

His tone wasn't loud, but his voice grew increasingly sharp:

"From a magician's perspective, this invitation is incredibly tempting. After all, being able to infiltrate Albion without going through the Bureau of Anatomy or completing any reporting procedures is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Hartles is the kind of scholar who is full of thirst for the unknown, so he would definitely accept without hesitation."

"And the rules there don't apply to London."

He tapped on the wooden surface of the round table.

"Albion's necropolis is maintained by its own legal structure, beyond the reach of the clock tower's surveillance. Even if a conflict or death occurs, it will only be recorded as an 'internal incident' or 'accidental disappearance' to the outside world."

The Second Prince paused, his gaze sharpening further:

“Hartles is indeed far superior to you, and is capable of leading the research system. But he has stepped into the territory you are familiar with—his advantage has been diminished in the face of an exploration team that has been repeatedly tempered in the Spirit Tomb and knows the terrain, rules and laws well.”

"And you, as long as you prepare enough time and resources, will have a chance to succeed."

At this moment, Ashira, on the other side of the round table, finally fell silent once again.

But this time it was different from the silence of the past when he tried to organize his thoughts and find a point of retaliation.

She remained silent.

It was like falling into a deep well, losing the surface and the echo.

There was no rebuttal, no rebuke, and not even disdain.

He simply stared at El-Melloi II, his expression indistinct.

Beneath that silence emerged the silent shock of being struck by a single blow.

She probably realized that arguing freely in this roundtable conference room would only put her in a more dangerous situation.

Under Rufreus's silent gaze, and behind Aozaki Touko's intrigued smile, Asira finally understood—

This dialogue was no longer just a verbal battle, but a public revelation that could determine her fate.

Then El-Melloi II continued, his tone light and almost sarcastic:

“Oh, right. Kuro back then—Dr. Hartres’s most trusted and prized student—was probably against this trip to Albion, right? But it doesn’t matter, you just need to leave him out. The real problem is the Rift.”

The Second Prince tilted his head, pretending to be thinking about something:

"You know, right? In the Sla underground, when the imposters launched their attack, those fissures didn't open and close instantly. They stayed open for a short time. In other words—"

His gaze locked onto the depths of her eyes:

“You can lure Hartres into the crevice, then kill him and Kuro together. Killing a refusing student and an unsuspecting mentor is just a matter of a moment.”

"Of course, you may have tried to persuade Kuro, but... judging from how long the rift lasted, he was not allowed to hesitate at all."

"you……"

Ashila finally gritted her teeth and spoke, her voice so low it was almost suppressed.

"...Your reasoning is absurd."

It's natural for her to say that. It would be strange if she didn't answer that way.

But El-Melloi II knew perfectly well what was going on.

Reason and logic are the tools magicians love to manipulate, but in this situation, saying them is nothing more than a death throes.

He couldn't help but ask her a question in return—do you think "reasonable arguments" still have any meaning now?

However, the Second Prince did not say it.

Instead, he continued to approach:

"It's just because there wasn't enough time, you weren't able to examine the body, right?"

"...What do you mean?"

She finally couldn't help but press for an answer.

And El-Melloi II was waiting for her to ask that question.

"Didn't you just ask who Hartres is now? That's the question."

The Second Prince leaned back in his chair, his tone becoming almost casual, yet all the more unsettling.

"You failed to confirm the identity of Hartres's body—which means that it's not hard to guess who 'the current Hartres' is."

The Second Prince's tone turned somber again, like a pebble falling into a lake:

"Because Dr. Hartrace is now the one who can accurately grasp the coordinates and duration of the rift. In other words... he possesses an ability that only 'Kuro' could possess in the past."

The air suddenly became still.

Ashira's pupils trembled, like the surface of a lake struck by lightning, rippling with barely suppressed waves.