Magician in Type-Moon

Page 564

If they could truly judge everything based on logic and common sense, they would never have inherited this absurd path.

All rational choices will stop at the door of the magician's path.

Therefore, it was inevitable that Rufreus would vehemently reject the idea of ​​"creating gods".

He is the embodiment of aristocracy and a staunch guardian of the ancient magical system.

His attitude requires no reasoning, because it is the conventional answer.

"you……"

Rufreus slowly turned his head, and a piercing light suddenly burst forth from his murky, muddy eyes.

"...You were Hartres's apprentice, weren't you?"

His tone was not one of questioning, but of judgment.

Ashira was jolted, as if she had been frozen in place the moment she was stared at.

She nodded stiffly, her expression extremely cautious.

"Yes... Dr. Hartress once mentored me."

Rufreus did not respond to the honorific, his voice as deep as a broken stone falling.

"Then answer me."

"That stupid, disgusting former dean of studies... does he really have the ability to perform that kind of procedure?"

The question, though brief, was like a sharp blade piercing a vital spot.

"...!"

Ashira suddenly held her breath, as if her heart was being tightly gripped.

Her scholarly composure was momentarily shattered at that moment.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly became tense.

In the silence that followed, another steady voice intervened, breaking the deadlock.

"Ashira".

Magdana spoke slowly and deliberately, his tone almost benevolent.

"Please state your opinion as a member of the anatomy bureau."

The Second Prince silently watched this scene, inwardly grumbling to himself:

—Hey, you guys were so confident earlier, claiming she would never say anything that only benefits me…

Now look at them, naming names without any attempt to hide it, sticking really close to the democrats.

But in any case, it was Ashira's turn to make a statement.

She remained silent for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, before finally speaking.

The voice still trembled slightly, but it was clear and firm.

"He successfully summoned the Boundary Recording Belt outside of the Holy Grail War."

"...There is also evidence that he read Machiri's paper and stole Emiya's sealing formula."

"And... he used the unstable cracks in the Sla Zone to quietly enter the Spirit Tomb Albion."

She was presenting the entire meeting as if it were a cold, hard autopsy report.

Every piece of intelligence is a "cause of death" for an unusual situation.

"Therefore, I believe it is not impossible."

“Dr. Hartrace… he has indeed mastered the mysteries sufficient to construct spells.”

"Since he was willing to give up the position of Dean of the Faculty and spend ten years collecting materials that far exceeded common sense... that means that he at least believed he could succeed."

"That technique was undoubtedly extremely complex, approaching the limits of modern magic... but—"

Ashira looked directly at Rufreus, her tone more resolute than ever before.

"—He possesses the technology to complete it, as well as...superpowers."

Once a word falls into the air, it can never be taken back.

The term "superpower" is the crack that the modern magic world is most unwilling to confront.

Rufreus's disgust deepened, but he couldn't immediately refute it.

Because he had heard of it too.

That was a rumor that Hartres obtained after a certain "disappearance"—an unknown object brought back by a human who had disappeared in the fairy realm.

"...It is said that he obtained his superpowers during the...disappearance of fairies, is that right?"

Rufreus whispered, his voice barely audible.

Even Euryph, the monarch of the Spirit Conjuring Department, who rejected fantasy and insisted on attributing phenomena to causes, could not completely deny the word "fairy".

That is something that cannot be measured or categorized by magic.

Like the Noble Phantasms of Heroic Spirits, the essence of fairies cannot be fully analyzed by modern magic mechanisms.

In other words, those things don't belong to this system, yet they manage to leave their mark on it.

"May I ask one more question?"

The voice wasn't loud, yet it pierced through the air in silence.

El-Melloi II spoke, his gaze falling on the young woman sitting in the distance.

“Miss Ashira, I would like to know—in your eyes, what was the relationship between Hartres and his disciple Kuro like in the past?”

"...Kuro?"

Rufreus frowned slightly and repeated the name.

The question in his tone sounded perfectly natural, even obvious.

To this sovereign of the Spirit Summoning Department, Hartres was nothing more than a has-been from another faction, and the title of "disciple" was nothing more than "noise" without the support of family lineage.

From beginning to end, he didn't pay any attention to the names of these nobody.

To Rufreus, they were merely people "who had been taught by someone," not "people worth remembering."

"He must be one of his favorite students."

Ashira's reply was quick, as if she had been prepared for it.

His tone was calm, but judging from the slightly tightened jawline, he was not as composed as he appeared.

"Among his many disciples, Kuro holds a special position. I cannot judge whether he himself was aware of this... but among all of them, there is no doubt that Kuro is the one who can most flexibly grasp Dr. Hartless's diverse magic system and theories."

As she spoke, she seemed to be trying to make every word sound objective, academic, and detached from personal feelings.

King El-Melloi II nodded slightly, then changed the subject:

"When you say 'among the disciples,' you mean the five of you, right?"

"...!"

At just one question, Ashira's shoulders twitched as if she had been electrocuted, and a moment of unease flashed across her face.

"The three disciples who were killed or went missing this time, plus you and Kuro... five people."

The Second Prince looked at her expression, his tone remaining calm and unhurried.

"You used to travel together in Albion, the Tomb of Spirits, right?"

This statement appears to be a statement, but in reality, it is a calculated move.

He didn't use an accusatory tone, but instead peeled back the layers of past secrets like an onion.

Ashira's gaze shifted for a moment, but then returned to calm.

“I did not deliberately hide this experience.”

He spoke calmly, but any truly experienced magician present would have noticed that the statement itself was a flaw.

—Because she did deliberately hide it.

To avoid making her becoming Hartlees's apprentice seem unnatural, her past experiences still bear traces of fabrication.

That being said, that's not the main point.

Even if someone brings it up, Ashira should have prepared many ways to avoid it.

However, this level of revelation was far from enough for the Second Emperor.

At that moment, Ashira was deep in thought, as if carefully considering her choice of words.

She knew that every word she uttered would be used as a weapon by the successor to the name El-Melloi.

Everyone present was watching this silent test.

Therefore, El-Melloi II moved the thorny piece in his hand forward one square.

This is a footwork style imbued with the awareness of self-destruction.

It didn't look like an investigation; it looked more like forced confession.

It didn't feel like analysis; it felt more like having everyone stare at a magic core that was about to explode.

“It might sound like exposing a family scandal,” he shrugged, his voice still laced with a lazy, sarcastic tone, “but didn’t you already successfully smuggle goods from Albion back then?”

"……what?"

A low, hoarse voice sounded.

Rufreus slowly turned his head to the side.

The shadow between his eyebrows almost fell onto the table.

"Smuggling from Albion...?"

His tone suggested he wasn't questioning, but rather confirming whether he had misheard.

The old man's cloudy, deep eyes caught Ashira's face in an instant.

It was a seasoned gaze—neither angry nor puzzled, but rather a direct probe of the other person's "intentions" through their expression.