Magician in Type-Moon

Page 542

Yvette's tone carried a hint of doubt, and her gaze shifted somewhat.

However, Graf did not respond to her at all; his attention was completely focused on Matou Ike.

"You have eyes that can see into people's hearts..."

His words were low and calm, as if they came from the depths of the earth. There was no urgency in his voice, but it was unsettlingly steady.

The phrase "the eyes can see into people's hearts" was like a hidden key, breaking the silence in the air and making the entire space seem to freeze.

The smoke in the air rose and fell, swirling around the old man, spreading out in a faint, almost imperceptible manner.

Then, Graf gave a cold chuckle and his eyes flickered slightly. "Hey, disciple."

"What are you doing, old man?"

Furu looked up from the sofa and responded expressionlessly, but there was a hint of wariness in his eyes. He was clearly not used to this conversation that had suddenly become more meaningful.

"If you just want to keep going deeper into the Grand Magic Circuit, there are indeed ways to do it."

The old man slowly stood up, his steps unhurried, but with an enigmatic smile on his face.

"But I never said... that I could do it while still alive. Are you prepared for that?"

His tone was calm, but the threat in his words struck Furu like a heavy hammer, causing him to pause slightly.

"Do you think I'm not ready?" Furu retorted coldly, a glint of icy glint in his eyes.

"That's just how the commission is; there's nothing we can do about it."

Furu's words were filled with determination, as if he had already decided to pay the price for this adventure.

Graf chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow slightly: "A commission... haha, a commission, huh. My disciple really sold his life for a pittance."

His words sounded like a joke, but the irony in them was undeniable.

Furu's eyes sharpened instantly, but he remained silent.

"By the way, since you've almost finished your preparations," Graf suddenly changed the subject, glancing at Yvette and Matou Ike, his tone dismissive, "but don't forget, conversations like this, where you speak freely, are a waste of time."

"Ha, so you really do just barge into someone's house and start talking all at once." He smirked slightly, seemingly amused. "So, have you prepared everyone's exploration equipment?"

Matou Ike's gaze met Graf's for a moment, his eyes sharp, as if he had no intention of leaving any room for negotiation. After a few seconds, he finally asked, "...Is it alright, Mr. Graf?"

"Okay, let me confirm."

Graf's sharp gaze swept over Fru, a disdainful expression flashing across his face. "Since you've come here, you should have brought it with you, you stupid disciple."

"I brought the tools I used when I went down into the maze before." Furu impatiently handed a tattered package to the old magician.

Graf opened the bag, rummaged through its contents, and then clicked his tongue.

"They're all secondhand."

His words were direct and simple, carrying a strong critical tone.

Graf slowly rose, his movements like those of an old clock rusted by time, but his smacking-lip expression was exactly like that of Fru, making one wonder who influenced whom between the master and disciple.

"You'll wait here for thirty minutes."

He uttered a single sentence, as if instructing a few not-so-bright cats.

"Thirty minutes?!"

Yvette couldn't help but raise her voice, "Mr. Furu also said that there are less than twenty-three hours left until the Grand Order decision is held!"

But the old magician remained unmoved, simply raising his hand and waving it casually as he walked towards the entrance.

"Just wait these thirty minutes, and I can save you half a day's journey." He turned around, his expression calm yet carrying an inexplicable confidence.

"No need for words of gratitude, it's fine to wash the floor with tears."

As soon as he finished speaking, he lifted the curtain in the entryway, and the old man slowly disappeared into the mist and the morning light.

-

Exactly thirty minutes later, the curtain in the entryway was lifted by the wind again, and Graf stepped into the house.

"You guys actually didn't run away, you stayed here obediently."

He made it up casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

"You—!"

Yvette gritted her teeth and raised her voice, but Graf ignored her completely, merely shrugging his shoulders with an attitude so lazily it was infuriating, just like Fru's.

However, all three noticed the woven basket the old man was carrying on his back, proving that he wasn't just aimlessly wandering outside.

He did indeed make some preparations.

"Alright, come with me."

He turned around without looking back and stepped out the door.

Just like when they arrived, everyone activated the spell to enhance their steps once again.

If there were onlookers, they would only see a few shadows gliding at high speed across the wasteland, almost as if they were flying with the wind.

Graf led them away from the town to the foot of a low hill on the outskirts.

It was a desolate wasteland.

They were not far from the mountains where they had disembarked at the station, but the land before them resembled a forgotten skeleton.

There was no vegetation, the wind and sand swirled, and the exposed ground was cracked like scales, grayish-white and dull.

It's as if this place was originally the tailbone of a giant dragon, now weathered into a barren hill.

The dry wind blows from all directions, no longer as cold as the ground, but it carries another kind of unsettling tremor.

The magic, like static electricity, tore at the magic circuits in waves, making one's skin tingle and one's mind go blank.

The light pouring down from the sky carried a distorted color temperature; it was no longer the light of the sun, but rather like the echoes of some kind of life activity—

Even the land itself seems to harbor hostility in "Albion, the Tomb of the Spirits".

This place does not belong to the living.

"They'll probably start from their usual spot."

Graf looked around and nodded to himself, as if he already knew the terrain of the area like the back of his hand.

"This area is quite suitable."

He finally stopped and turned around.

On a protruding rock, Graf unloaded the woven basket from his back and casually tossed it to the ground. It landed with a dull thud, clearly indicating that it was more than just empty.

His weary, scleral show slowly swept over everyone present, as if he were assessing each person's temperature and worth.

Finally, their gaze fell upon Matou Ike.

"How many steps would it take you to leap to the top of that hill over there?"

Looking in the direction his chin pointed, there was a solitary hill rising in the wilderness. Its summit hung high in the air, probably more than twenty meters high from the ground, its rough outline resembling ancient ivory fragments, making people hesitate to approach.

"One step at a time," Matou Ike replied casually after a brief assessment.

Then, he glided past the edge of his field of vision like a gust of wind.

In the blink of an eye—he was already standing on the mountaintop, his clothes still hem, when he suddenly turned back like a falling meteor and landed steadily.

Graf watched his movements and murmured:

"High-speed chanting... What an amazing magical skill. But this makes things much easier. When exploring Albion, remember to take advantage of high ground whenever possible... You should also know a few automatic reconnaissance spells, right?"

“Hmm.” Matou Ike nodded briefly.

"Very good." The old man grinned, as if recalling a past event.

"That kind of magic is also very useful in Albion, but in a grand magic circuit, you'd better not concentrate your magic too much. After all, magic is everywhere here, and there's no point in having an enemy reaction at any time. Although the precision will be reduced a bit, limiting the target of the detection magic reaction is a basic practice."

The question, "Limited to specific targets?" piqued Matou Ike's interest.

“Hmm. Specifying the attribute is enough. Just change the target's attribute every second to avoid the vast majority of false alarms,” Graf said casually, as if reciting an old mantra.

Matouchi nodded and silently made a note of it.

"Since you understand, then—you can have this."

As the old man spoke, he pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over.

It was an ordinary photocopy paper, its edges slightly yellowed from repeated folding.

Despite the minimal protective magic applied, the paper trembled in his hands with the slightest breeze, as if it were about to be torn apart at any moment. Yet, the dense markings and annotations on the paper gleamed with a practical light, like sharp blades.

"This is the most detailed map Albion currently has. I asked a few old friends to inquire around and also checked the monster's appearance routes in recent months. As long as Furu follows this route map, theoretically, he can minimize the number of encounters in the lower-level dungeons."

Furu's expression changed instantly as he stood to the side.

"Hey, old man! How did you even get your hands on this stuff?"

"An old geezer who won't live more than a few years and can't even perform a decent magic trick is holed up in a corner of a mining city. Surely he can't even get his hands on a few maps and intelligence? As long as we follow the route, theoretically we'll only encounter a very small number of fantasy species that inhabit the vicinity of the magic circuit core. Something useful is better than nothing."

"That's not what I meant!" Furu suddenly shouted.

The astrologer, who was now acting as a disciple, seemed genuinely enraged.

"Do you know how much this thing is worth on the market? I wanted to get a chart like this before, and people were asking for a year's income! A whole year!"

Yvette could also sense something unusual and couldn't help but interject:

"Then why did you..."

“As that foolish disciple said, I am already dead.”

The old man spoke in a lazy tone, as if he were just giving a perfunctory reply, or as if he were announcing an expired conclusion.

“The dead don’t need property. Since I’ve never been a qualified magician, there’s no question of who will inherit my junk. I’m just taking this opportunity to hand over what I was going to give up sooner or later anyway.”

He then took a backpack from the woven basket at his feet and tossed it to Furu.

“It contains some exploration tools I’ve been using lately. You don’t need me to explain how to use them… Also, here, take this one too.” He pulled out a short knife and handed it over. “This is the knife I always carried when I was young. I didn’t have a chance to give it to you before, so I’m making up for it now.”

Furu took it, and after a moment of silence, asked in a low voice, "...Are you sure? No matter how much I begged you before, you would never agree."

"I couldn't bear to part with it back then," the old man replied calmly. "Now my body can't use this thing anymore, it'll just rust if I keep it."

Furu slung his backpack over his shoulder, his fingertips slowly stroking the scabbard before finally putting it away in his bosom.