Magician in Type-Moon

Page 535

She placed the "essence of magic" above all else, refusing to compromise for power or bow to profit.

For this reason, even the Creative Department of the Clock Tower, which is most particular about structure, efficiency and the balance of interests, tolerated that the "Baruye" family line maintained the marginal and stubborn position of the democrats and never eliminated them.

On the table, the sand swirled gently, like dust drifting in the low sky.

If this were transformed into a magic circuit at this moment, the mass of a handful of fine sand would be enough to turn the entire restaurant into collapsed ruins in the blink of an eye.

Magdana knew very well that she could do it.

He remained silent for a few seconds.

Then he raised his head and, like a criminal receiving a verdict, said sternly:

"I admit defeat. I'll confess."

His voice was loud and clear, his tone unambiguous, as if he were speaking candidly to an old friend.

"Haha, it's been a long time since I've been scolded by Ms. Inola. It reminds me of my student days. You were the professor I feared the most. You would criticize even the simplest things, like leaving an extra line blank on a report, until it was completely torn apart."

"It's your tendency to jump to conclusions that you haven't corrected yet," she pointed out slowly, her gaze already shifting to a corner of the restaurant.

The melodious sound of the violin rose and flowed delicately amidst the tinkling of the silverware.

That was no ordinary performance—the timbre seemed to flow from a dream, ethereal and alluring, carrying a spell that did not belong to modern musical scales.

“That’s the Weinz family’s, isn’t it?” Inole said softly, as if commenting on a glass of red wine that hadn’t yet been tasted.

Magdana raised an eyebrow, followed her gaze, and a smile appeared on his lips.

“That’s right.” He raised his hand and tapped the table lightly to the beat.

"I thought the Weinz family didn't have any outstanding trainers besides that little guy Melvin."

Inolei spoke in a languid tone, as if casually mentioning an old acquaintance, but a sharp interest shone through his eyes, as if he were catching a slip of the tongue.

She had already obtained some inside information about the Wienz family, one of which was the mysterious disappearance of a tuner named Melvin.

It seems that the El-Melloi family, who are currently in the spotlight of the magic world, and the magician named Matou Ike also have a good personal relationship.

At this critical juncture where the situation is stalemate and various forces are poised to make moves, a magician who possesses skill, lineage, and connections has suddenly "disappeared" from the public eye.

Even the most obtuse politician wouldn't believe there's nothing fishy going on here.

The Transpelio family entrusted him to the Weinz family, a branch of the Transpelio—this complex relationship was a magical system built on blood ties and loyalty.

The fact that the ties were severed so cleanly and decisively only reinforces the belief that this "disappearance" was no accident.

“Melvin…” Magdana seemed to recall something and said casually, “If he didn’t have the physical problem, he might have become my successor.”

"Really? If you value that little guy so much, why didn't you bring him with you?"

Inolai turned her gaze back to Magdana's face.

Although the question was posed casually, the tone was slightly sharp, as if to pierce through some deliberately avoided answer.

"Oh dear, doing that would give the Wienz matriarch a real headache."

Magdana blinked, his tone light and insincere, as if what he had just said was nothing more than an after-dinner joke.

He tapped his fingers lightly twice, as if setting the stage for the next scene.

"Let's get back to the point."

At that very moment, the violinist who was tuning his violin in the corner of the restaurant suddenly sensed something amiss.

It's not an illusion—it's a real anomaly.

The air suddenly became heavy. His fingers stiffened abruptly, and the bow paused almost imperceptibly.

It's not cold, it's not hot, it's just—humid.

It's like being suddenly thrown into the water.

Silently, the entire room was enveloped by some invisible behemoth—like being inside a transparent water tank, the water already above his chest, slowly approaching his throat. He even wondered if he had stopped breathing.

Not an illusion.

It's magic.

The entire space was "swallowed" by Transpelio's magic in just a few seconds.

It wasn't released gradually, nor was it deliberately expanded; that magic was always there.

It was simply that it was originally confined to a certain limit, and now the seal has been broken.

Everything in the room—air, light, sound, thoughts—was assimilated, soaked, and covered by this oversaturated magic.

It was as if reality itself had been rearranged.

The change occurred at the moment when he and Enola were about to clash.

At that moment, sand grains rose into the air, the air stagnated, and the forces of observation intersected—if Magdana hadn't intervened in time, the outcome between sand and fire would likely have been decided in the next second.

She was almost ready to take action.

He was not one to sit idly by and wait for his fate.

Under normal circumstances, the activation of magic requires the incorporation of the "Mana" in the atmosphere, supplemented by the magician's own vital energy (Od) as an ignition source, in order to establish the spell.

but now.

The magical power released from Magdana's body—the power of that one person alone—was enough to form the basis for unleashing a grand magic spell.

Like a surging tide.

Like the silence before a volcano erupts.

"We prefer silence, for we see things clearly."

Magdana chanted softly, and as soon as he finished speaking—

boom!

outside the window.

Outside the glass of a high-rise building hundreds of meters in the air, a blazing fire suddenly exploded like fireworks out of season.

In an instant, flames tore through the night sky, then vanished in the next instant, as if nothing had ever happened.

But the aftershocks have not yet subsided.

The next moment, a charred wreckage fell from mid-air, plummeting helplessly to the ground like a twisted piece of paper, leaving behind a distorted trail of smoke.

"Ugh, how boring. They actually sent a familiar to spy on us." Magdana's tone remained relaxed, and the slight smile from before still lingered on his lips.

"They're all guys who like to pry into other people's secrets."

Under normal circumstances, if an external source is mobilized, the construction of the spell will inevitably be detected by the enemy's familiar at some stage, thus giving them an opportunity to escape and counterattack.

But Magdana did not rely on Big Source.

He simply used the pure essence within his body. Without fluctuation or warning, the magic was completed before anyone noticed, activated, cleared, and ended in an instant.

No one survived.

This is the essence of His Excellency Tramberg – Magdana Tramberg Elrod.

His personal characteristic is simply "ultra-high output power".

In modern magic, even to perform a large-scale magic trick, it is usually necessary to lay the groundwork repeatedly, chant repeatedly, and connect with the earth's energy channels. Even if it is successfully performed once, it is already very rare.

However, this man only needs to construct once to continuously output overwhelming spells without any loss.

That was an efficiency that bordered on violence.

That is a talent that defies explanation.

That is the only natural thing that is necessary for the pinnacle of "Trampellio".

Even in the clock tower, as a magician, he remained exceptional to an almost out of place.

"Is the tuning finished?"

Magdana turned around and looked at the violinist who had just finished playing, seemingly still wanting more.

The voice was so soft as if it were just a casual question, but it actually concealed an undisguised appreciation and a greed for beauty.

"That's all for now."

The tuner nodded slightly, his tone restrained, maintaining his usual professionalism and composure. "If you wish to have a more formal tuning service, please take some time to visit my workshop."

"I see, I'm really looking forward to it."

Magdana looked satisfied and smiled gently, as if he had truly taken that promise to heart.

Then he turned around and touched the silver bell that was placed beside him with his fingertips.

Ding--

A crisp, elegant metallic bell rang through the restaurant, sweeping across the overly decorated ceiling and curtains, echoing in every corner. A moment later, the closed doors opened silently.

A figure stood behind the door.

She was a woman, tall and slender with dark skin, dressed in a dark gown yet exuding no air of subservience. She stared directly at Inole, and the will conveyed in her eyes made it instantly clear—she was no ordinary person.

This person's appearance in this magically filled secret room was clearly not for the purpose of accompanying a meal.

"Alright, now that I have promised to tell Ms. Inola the source of the information, it is time to fulfill that promise."

Magdana smiled and spread his hands, his voice carrying a hint of delight akin to "unveiling" something new.

"She is one of Dr. Hartrace's students—probably the last one to be directly mentored by him. She currently belongs to the Materials Department of the Secret Relics Dissection Bureau, and her name is 'Miss Ashira'."

"Don't do this, Dad."

The woman interrupted softly, her tone tinged with a hint of coquettishness.

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze.

Magdana nodded matter-of-factly, as if stating a completely unsurprising fact:

"She is my twelfth daughter."

"...What's going on, Magdana?"

Enolae finally spoke. She wasn't angry, and her tone was flat; she seemed to be trying to confirm whether she had misunderstood.

Do I need to explain?