Magician in Type-Moon

Page 496

It seems to have detached itself from the mysterious world.

Soft jazz music played in the corridor, and the number of unfamiliar passengers passing by increased significantly, but their language and behavior were more in line with business than magic.

Matou Pond is located in the central plaza-like area, which features an artificial, illuminated fountain and is surrounded by several restaurants, open-air bars, and high-end retail stores of various styles.

As he walked, he observed the sea conditions, routes, and safety tips that were being displayed on the information wall. Without making a sound, he took out a simple metal card and swiped it on the self-service terminal.

"Are you lonely?" A teasing voice sounded from behind, its tone flippant yet containing a hint of scrutiny.

Matou Ike didn't turn around, but only paused slightly.

Of course he knew who it was.

"Why are there so many ordinary people here?" He ignored the joke and glanced at the shopping area not far away.

In the bustling crowd, middle-aged men in suits and young tourists in swimsuits mingled together, as if they were in a Mediterranean commercial port rather than on a ship bound for a special place.

Van Fim shrugged, but instead of his usual white tuxedo, he was dressed casually, looking like a retired art director on vacation.

"You don't really think that tickets for this ship cost a million euros every time, do you?"

“Isn’t that right?” Matou Ike rolled his eyes. “You’re the epitome of greed. Even gold should call you uncle.”

Van Fem laughed: "The price will only go up 'slightly' when the banquet begins."

He gestured a very small distance with his finger, as if the million euros were just a fraction of the total.

"At other times, in order to cover up our activities and maintain operations, we always need to find some harmless 'ordinary people' to fill the base."

"You mean the entertainment facilities, shops, staff... on this ship are all just a cover?"

“Of course, it’s also for making money,” Van Fem casually said. “Although this ship doesn’t fly any national flags and doesn’t have anything from magicians or the church, the maintenance costs are much higher than you can imagine. Fully automated systems, space-to-air compatible propulsion, flight path camouflage, and anti-magic protection for the cabins—these are not things that can be maintained by prayer alone.”

Matouchi walked to the porthole and looked out at the distant sea through the reinforced glass.

The hull silently cuts through the waves, and the tranquility of modern technology envelops this "Deadline Joy Ship".

"You really do like modern things, huh?" Matou Ike glanced around at the steel and glass that seemed to belong to a magical world, making him feel momentarily disoriented.

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that.” Van Fim chuckled and spread his hands. “Ever since becoming a Dead Apostle, I’ve lost all interest in studying magic. I’d rather spend my time enjoying some wine and music than researching those things.”

As he spoke, he looked up at the huge holographic screen at the top of the deck, a serious look that was not a joke appearing in his eyes, as if some unspoken memory was passing through his mind.

"No wonder your ship was used as a relay for magical rituals." Matou Ike said calmly, but with a hint of sarcasm in his words.

Van Fem was taken aback, and could only manage a wry smile and awkwardly scratch his head.

“I really didn’t expect this to happen. I didn’t expect those people to be so bold.” He sighed. “I thought I had hidden myself well enough.”

Matou Ike did not respond, but simply turned away.

“So,” Van Fim changed the subject, “you’re really planning to go to London?”

"Are you so interested in my itinerary?" Matou Ike tilted his head, his tone unreadable.

“London is not a good place right now.” Van Fim did not answer directly, but looked at the reflection of the city lights on the horizon in the distance.

"The situation there is more complicated than you can imagine. The Church, the Clock Tower, the Grand Decree, and even some remnants of the evil gods are all operating in the shadows. Everyone is watching that node as if they can grasp something."

Matou Ike didn't speak, but her eyes narrowed slightly.

“The situation is relatively simpler in the Himalayas,” Van Fem continued. “At your current pace, proceeding step by step might not be the safest option.”

"Are you trying to persuade me to change my plans?" Matou Ike frowned slightly, his tone carrying a hint of questioning and displeasure.

“I’m not advising, just reminding you.” Van Fem’s tone was calm, as if stating a trivial fact. “Your eyes should have already seen that that route is the solution that best suits you. The fewest variables, the fewest casualties.”

A gentle sea breeze blew by as the two stood at the edge of the deck, the dim light cast by the porthole lights swaying around them, as if reflecting the shadows of two different worlds.

Matou Ike remained silent for a few seconds, his gaze gradually sharpening. He slowly turned his head to look at Van Fem.

"You just—it seems you deliberately omitted something."

Van Fem blinked, his smile unchanged, but a glint appeared in his eyes: "Oh? Which point are you referring to?"

"You just mentioned the Church, the Clock Tower, the Crown Decree, and even those lurking, unknown remnants of evil gods..."

Matou Ike gazed at the distant horizon, then changed the subject, "But there is one force you have deliberately avoided."

"Oh?" Van Fem glanced sideways, still looking relaxed. "Perhaps there was a mistake in my intelligence network, and it's inevitable that some things were missed."

"Given your current status, it's a bit disingenuous of you to say that." Matou Ike sneered, turning around to meet his gaze. "The Twenty-Seven Dead Apostles. You don't really think I didn't notice that you've never mentioned them along the way."

Van Fem was stunned for a moment, then laughed, his shoulders twitching slightly, as if some embarrassing secret had been exposed.

“Ha…you’re something else,” he said. “I just thought, since I’m no longer involved in the internal affairs of that ridiculous club, why bring it up?”

"How much do you know about The Dark Six's plans?" Matou Ike asked Van Fem directly, without any intention of beating around the bush.

“I’m not the kind of Dead Apostle who would proactively reach out to old friends for a chat.” Van Fem spread his hands, feigning helplessness. “Between them and me, well… at least for now, we don’t have any consensus.”

“But you know they’re making moves,” Matou Ike said calmly, “and even how far they’ll go.”

This time, Van Fem neither laughed nor refuted.

He remained silent for a few seconds, then looked out at the sunlit sea at the far end of the deck.

“The Blood Ring of Principle is probably not necessary for you,” Van Fem said calmly, as if confirming a conclusion he already knew.

“Indeed, I have no interest in collecting that stuff,” Matou Ike nodded in agreement.

His voice was flat, simply stating the facts.

As a being who possesses both a physical body and a spiritual origin, his process of drawing upon the supreme source blood of the Dead Apostles was not particularly smooth.

“Then you have even less reason to get involved in that mess.” Van Fem shrugged. “Let those who truly rely on the source blood to survive fight it out. Anyway, they’re not far from collapsing.”

Matou Ike did not respond, but only glanced at him indifferently.

“You see things very clearly,” he said.

“There’s no way around it. When you live long enough, you have to learn to select the chessboards you’re willing to play on.” Van Fem smiled slightly, but there was no smile in his eyes.

“But Tsbia has already extended an invitation to me,” Matou Ike said casually, as if discussing a regular banquet.

“That guy?” Van Fem frowned immediately. “That’s not right… the next blood moon hasn’t arrived yet.”

“He projected a circle directly.” Matou Ike shrugged, his tone indifferent.

“I see.” Van Fem’s eyebrows were almost knitted together. “Then you should understand what that represents. Even so, are you still going to keep the appointment?”

"Of course I know." Matou Ike still looked nonchalant. "But since the opportunity has been presented to us, how can we not give it a try and live up to this 'sincerity'?"

As he spoke, he took a small pinch of birdseed from his pocket and casually tossed it into the air.

In that instant, a series of soft but rapid flapping sounds suddenly rang out above the previously empty deck.

Countless dark shadows swooped down from the sky, as if awakening from some invisible barrier, eagerly pecking at the debris in the air.

Van Fem looked up at the flock of seabirds, his expression unusually strange.

That was his pet used to perform "magic".

"Alright." Matou Ike withdrew his gaze from the sky and turned his attention back to Van Fim. "Since I've been lingering here for so long, I wonder if you, as the Twenty-Seventh Ancestor, would be willing to offer some advice or information? Even just a little bit of directional hint."

Van Fem helplessly spread his hands, a half-serious, half-fake smile tugging at the corners of his mouth:

"Sigh... Since you've already asked, I'll reluctantly agree. Anyway, with your personality, once you've made up your mind, you'll rush in and rummage through everything even if I don't tell you."

“Same to you.” Matou Ike chuckled. “So I just asked directly—regarding the Dark Six Kings Project, do you know which guys have already received invitations?”

Van Fem raised an eyebrow, but did not answer immediately. Instead, he whistled softly, as if weighing something.

“You’ve chosen a good question,” he said, pouring a glass of amber-colored liquor from his flask and drinking as he spoke. “Most of the lists are vague, a typical ‘recruiting in secret, speaking out in public’ tactic. But I have a few definite names.”

Van Fem raised one finger.

“The Dead Apostle Rubare,” Van Fem slowly uttered the name. “An old fellow over five hundred years old, hiding in the perpetual fog of Norway. His target is the tenth seat of the Twenty-Seven Dead Apostles—the right to inherit the vacant position.”

Matouchi nodded slightly, searching through his memories for information about this deceased apostle.

The Dead Apostle of the Lake—his name comes from the fact that he always hunts in the impenetrable fog of the lake. If this is his nature, then he himself is like the fog: silent, eroding, spreading, and then disappearing into places you think are safe.

This is no ordinary vampire.

An ancient being connected to the bloodline of the ancestors. At least five thousand corpses died directly or indirectly at his hands. If those "secondary deaths"—those infected and consumed again by their relatives—are also included, the death toll will multiply.

Its kinship is complete and tightly structured, resembling a living cult. The concentration of their bloodlines is astonishing, and they maintain a resonance and curse among themselves, much like a demonic system.

He is not just a strongman. He is "the ultimate expression of an undead monster".

"Who else?" Matou Ike asked in a low voice.

Van Fem's expression held a hint of amusement, yet also a trace of suppressed displeasure.

"Tevanm Ottenroseche".

He paused deliberately, then sighed softly, "If you find this name too unfamiliar, he has another name you've definitely heard of—"

“—Lord White Wing.” Matou Ike took over the conversation, his tone even lower than before.

The oldest Dead Apostle, one of the Twenty-Seven Ancestors, the seventeenth.

A vampire evolved from a magician, and also Zhu Yue's original follower.

A typical vampire, currently the King of the Dead Apostles. As a Dead Apostle representing the Twenty-Seven Ancestors, he possesses the greatest authority, albeit in name only.

Matou Ike clicked his tongue softly.

"This is really... one big shot after another is making an appearance."

His tone was not without a hint of teasing, but it also concealed a degree of vigilance.

Van Fem ignored his antics and continued, "And—Granzog Blackmore, he's very likely to appear as well."

"Black Winged Lord?" Matou Ike raised an eyebrow. "He's coming too? Aren't he and White Winged Lord always at odds?"

He subconsciously touched his nose, the symbolic meaning of that name surfacing in his mind.

Granzog Brakmoya, a dead apostle known as "Moon Drinker".

It is not simply a monster, but a vampire that grew from magic.

The moment he became a Dead Apostle, he gained an extremely dangerous ability: spell-based killing that only works on Dead Apostles.

He possesses the Reality Barrier "Never More".

He was one of the deadliest assassins during the French Revolution, single-handedly blocking the main battlefront of the entire bloodline.