Magician in Type-Moon

Page 569

It wasn't a fabricated excuse either.

Rather, she carried a heavy burden, and chose to stand up in order to prevent the flawed story from continuing.

Speak the truth in a tone that is almost tearing you apart.

"……Why?"

The Second Prince couldn't help but ask the question.

Ashira lowered her eyes, her tone as cold as steel scraping against a fine blade.

"Because in that upheaval ten years ago, Hartres—was very likely to have been too successful."

"Too...successful?"

“Yes. Even if he is not the monarch, if he were to take another step... if he were to seize control of the situation during that chaos and take the ministerial positions in two disciplines—that would be an even greater collapse for the Clock Tower. We... must prevent that from happening.”

She paused, then added in a low voice:

"The clock tower cannot afford to lose two of its major academic deans at once."

Hearing her words, the Second Prince almost wanted to look up at the sky.

Ten years ago.

The year the clock tower was in turmoil.

—Isn't there only one thing?

"In other words... because the previous Lord El-Melloi died that year."

The Second Prince's words sank into the air.

Ashira gently closed her eyes and nodded.

"...That's exactly right."

It's understandable that she would think this way.

After all, the chaos caused by the death of Kenneth El-Melloi Archibald in the clock tower remains an indelible lesson.

If Hartres hadn't chosen to conceal his whereabouts at that time, he would probably be sitting in the Minister of Mineral Science's seat today.

Compared to having the Meastia family monopolize both disciplines, it would have been more natural for Hartres to succeed them—and a less harmful outcome for the clock tower's structure.

The Second Prince took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil and bitterness in his chest.

"So you think... as long as we kill Hartles' right-hand man—Kuro—we can cut off his chances of continuing to rise?"

Ashira did not answer immediately.

After a few seconds of silence, she nodded.

"That's right. Exactly."

Her words lacked the composure of a victor, revealing only weariness and self-deprecation.

"But... the result you ultimately got was, in a sense, the exact opposite, and in a sense—beyond expectations."

The Second Prince gazed at her face.

"Having lost Kuro, Hartres not only failed to advance, but also lost his foothold in the clock tower. And then he vanished—completely."

An unspoken silence filled the air.

That was an outcome no one could have predicted. It was a tragedy that slipped out of an error, a silence that came at the cost of a misguided strategy.

"Although... this turn of events was more bizarre than expected, can we consider this the end of the topic?"

It was Magdana who spoke.

The representatives of the democratic faction, who have always remained silent like bystanders, spoke out this time with an unusually solemn and almost ritualistic attitude.

His tone was calm, but like the gavel on the judge's bench, it brought a temporary end to the story.

He nodded, his tone devoid of emotion:

"Of course, my daughter's guilt is clear. Since she deprived Dr. Hartrace of his discipleship, she must pay an equivalent price for it."

If they had killed Hartles, who was the Dean of Studies, even in the Clock Tower, an organization that disregards the law and only cares about self-interest, it would have been considered an extremely serious act of betrayal and would have been openly condemned.

However, that was not the case. They only attacked one of their disciples—Kuro.

In the Clock Tower, disciples are never irreplaceable. As long as the main culprit, Ashira, is handed over, the case can be closed. No one will stir up a bigger storm for a disciple who has lost his background.

The clock tower's ethics are just like the Mafia's "benevolence and righteousness."

—An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

Therefore, only equal costs are required. No more. In fact, no more is permitted.

Upon hearing the monarch admit his guilt, Inola suddenly spoke in a relaxed tone.

"What exactly do you mean by 'equal compensation,' Magdana?"

Her words, though spoken with a smile, were like a silver needle held between her fingers—light yet sharp.

Magdana paused for a moment, then answered without hesitation:

“I’ve said it before, she’s my daughter. So, the responsibility for this—is mine.”

He confessed without hesitation.

The pair of thick fists slowly landed on his knees, and he lowered his head in a posture that was almost like confession.

"Whether she acted on her own or was prompted by me, it makes no difference. She is my bloodline... Therefore, whatever mistake she made, I must take full responsibility for it."

"…………!"

An unexpected turn of events.

His attitude was incredibly calm, without shirking responsibility or trying to shirk it, as if he had already prepared himself to be condemned by everyone.

But it is precisely because of this that it feels even colder—

This is not just the spirit of a magician, but also the deep and stern love of a father.

No matter how ruthless the schemes he devised in his power plays, these emotions were genuine. It is precisely this genuineness that makes him alarming, even frightening.

His methods were chilling, but his convictions weighed heavily on the hearts of everyone present.

Inola seemed amused, a smile playing on her lips as she raised her chin.

"Oh... responsibility? What exactly do you mean by 'taking responsibility'?"

Magdana slowly raised his head.

“Currently, the Modern Magic Department of Hartres is being managed by Meastia. Therefore—I will completely entrust the voting rights for this Grand Order decision to Meastia.”

The air suddenly became quiet for a moment.

What he offered was not a symbolic compensation, but a real transfer of power.

.........

Underworld.

The very word itself is enough to send chills down one's spine.

It is not just a synonym for "death," but a whole world that embraces death and its end.

That is an existence that is fundamentally opposed to "life".

It's not the end, but the complete opposite. It's not the destination, but the territory on the other side.

Here, life decays, light fades, all meaning is stripped away, leaving only absolute silence and decay.

Matouike was wandering alone through this desolate territory.

To enter the underworld in physical form—this is not an illusion, but an undeniable fact.

He could discern this through the powers associated with "death." His skin had not turned into spiritual particles, nor had his senses floated into nothingness; he still possessed the structure of "living," yet stood in the world of "death."

“So that’s it, it’s ‘sight’…” he murmured to himself.

The Demon Eye—a demon eye that steals the vision of others.

Start with the symptoms described by the doctor who previously described the intermittent blindness;

Then there's the rumor that Hartres, in his youth, could cure that "strange disease" with just a touch;

This series of seemingly disparate clues has now finally come together in one go.

That's a kind of demonic eye.

A magical eye that can forcibly strip others of their sight as long as they get close—even rainbow-level magical eyes are not immune.

He finally understood the strangeness of that earlier moment. That beast of the underworld, which should not have noticed "humans" before, had actually set its gaze on them, beings as insignificant as dust.

Not because they were perceived—

Rather, it was because Hartres usurped the beast's vision.

Even Matou Ike's view was taken away in a moment.

That's not ordinary vision. It's a vision composed of multiple magic eyes, precisely controlled.

Like the layers of mirrors stacked in a tower, it unifies perceptions of different wavelengths and dimensions into a single glance.

That perspective was forcibly taken away.

"...Is this your trump card?" he said in a low voice, his tone carrying a bitter smile of helplessness.

He shook his head.

Without a doubt, this was a trap that Hartres had already set.

He spread his abilities into a domain, stripping away the "vision" of all who approached him in this land of the dead, turning them into his own eyes.

In that case——

The only way to reach the deepest part of the ceremony site is through that tunnel.

That passage was probably a dead end set up in a "blind spot".

At this moment, the Grand Order decision is still underway.

Every speech and every statement made at the meeting was compressed, translated, and sent directly into Matou Ike's mind in the form of a magic imprint.