Magician in Type-Moon

Page 645

Being aware of the existence of that sound is one thing.

Understanding its meaning is another matter.

For the magicians gathered here at this moment, who prided themselves on their impregnable mental fortresses, regaining control over their own existence had become a long and arduous journey.

Time has lost its meaning. A few minutes? Perhaps longer.

In the deathly silent auditorium, only heavy, oppressive breathing, like that of a dying beast, could be heard.

"Clatter...pop..." Several magicians' tightly held wine glasses slipped from their hands like broken puppets, and expensive champagne spilled onto the mirror-like floor, spreading out patches of glaring, grape-colored stains like congealed blood.

However, the owners of the shoes, whose shoes were stained, were completely unaware. Their pupils remained unfocused, and their souls seemed to still be imprisoned in those heterochromatic eyes that were fused with gold and silver.

"Uh..." Someone stood frozen in place like a puppet whose bones had been removed, the rise and fall of his chest so weak as to be almost nonexistent, his face turning a terrifying bluish-purple from lack of oxygen, until his body began to convulse instinctively, as if on the verge of death, before he suddenly gasped for breath and coughed violently.

"Waaah... Waaah..." Even worse, some could not bear the weight of that pure, almost soul-crushing "beauty," their knees buckled, and they knelt heavily on the ground, tears streaming down their faces, uttering incomprehensible sobs and wails, like the most devout and desperate pilgrims witnessing divine punishment.

If this were some kind of elaborate, mind-based magical attack, any magician present would scoff at it and instantly counter it with more than ten secret techniques. Arming the mind and building a mental barrier—this is the first and most fundamental ironclad rule for entering the world of magic.

That's the irony.

It is precisely because the existence that descended revealed a "beauty" that transcended the concept of "attack" and was so pure that it contained not a trace of impurity, that it was a "form of existence" that they had never imagined in the mental techniques they had spent their entire lives refining to resist external evils.

That seemingly indestructible spiritual fortress, which they were so proud of, was as fragile as a piece of paper soaked in water, easily, silently, and completely torn apart and annihilated under the gaze of those divine eyes that looked down upon all living beings.

It's embarrassing—and even a huge irony to the great writer's "glorious resume"—that even Alexandre Dumas, who was on the periphery trying to numb his dangerous instincts with champagne and beautiful women, was not spared.

His mind, usually so adept at weaving lies and stories, was now completely blank.

His flamboyant smile froze on his face, and even the gleam of his gold teeth seemed to dim. The champagne glass he had just filled was silently trickling down his slightly tilted wrist, staining the expensive Persian carpet with dark marks.

He wasn't even aware of the brief "disconnection" in his consciousness; his thoughts seemed to have been thrown into an absolute zero glacier, instantly frozen.

The only thing that remains is the purple figure that tears reality apart and the molten gold eyes imprinted on the retina.

“I am Estella Balereta Izeruma, who inherited the title of Silver Princess.”

Frankly speaking, when the second voice rang out, its content was completely outside the realm of cognition for the vast majority of people.

On one hand, Princess Estella's face was veiled by a thin layer of mist, as if separating dimensions, adding to her mystery.

But the main reason is—

The first appearance of the Golden Princess Tiades was like a supernova explosion, completely burning and overloading the cognitive abilities of all the magicians in the hall.

Their "receivers" have blown their fuses and are no longer able to handle any new, equally overwhelming floods of information.

Looking around, the vast majority of guests remained in a state of disorientation and sensory numbness, as if they had been subjected to a collective petrification spell.

The reaction of believers who witness the descent of God and receive His divine power is probably no different.

At the edge of Setra's vision, an even more horrifying sight came into view—several magicians with slightly stronger willpower, who had barely regained a sliver of self-awareness, were pressing their trembling, veiny fingers tightly against their eyeballs!

Their faces were a mixture of extreme pain and a twisted, almost ecstatic impulse—

It was an irrepressible desire from the deepest part of their souls: to capture this breathtaking "beauty" as the last scene they would ever see in their lives, to imprint it forever on their retinas! For this, they even had the terrible urge to gouge out their own eyes!

The reason he could suppress this self-destructive madness was perhaps simply because a more humble, more "superficial" desire was struggling within him—

Perhaps... perhaps there is still a chance to witness the same miracle again, one that could burn the soul? This faint hope, like a candle flickering in the wind, became the last straw for their remaining sanity.

"Uh...cough cough!" Dumas suddenly shook his head, as if he had just struggled to surface from the deepest seabed, making a sound as if he had choked on wine.

He coughed violently, awkwardly wiping the champagne that had spilled from the corner of his mouth; the expensive liquid soaked the front of his fine suit.

"Damn it... damn it!" he cursed under his breath, his voice hoarse, filled with the shock and fear of surviving a disaster.

That gold tooth seemed to have lost its former luster.

He looked around at his colleagues who were still distraught and even resorting to self-harm, and a mixture of absurdity, fear, and extreme displeasure welled up inside him.

"Damn it!" he cursed silently, his eyes sweeping sharply across the two divine sisters on the terrace, especially their purple figure and their molten gold eyes.

The image imprinted on his retina sent shivers down his spine, but his instinct as a "story creator" grew wildly like a poisonous vine.

Chapter 670 Convenience (4k)

The tower’s interior is far more magnificent than its tilted, grotesque exterior.

The ancient stone walls have been meticulously polished and inlaid with shimmering mineral and metal patterns, forming intricate and mysterious geometric designs.

The air was filled with a magical aura that blended rare incense, aged parchment, and a deep, earthy pulse.

The banquet hall is located on the middle floor of the tower. The huge arched floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the stunning Lake Windermere, but at this moment, they are mostly obscured by heavy velvet curtains, leaving only gaps to let in some twilight, which intertwines with the star-like yet cold light emitted by the countless suspended crystal chandeliers in the hall.

Jian Tongchi did not blend into the group of guests who were dressed in elegant clothes and whispering and laughing.

He chose a relatively quiet corner of the corridor on the second floor, half-hidden by the shadow of a huge stone pillar. Like a silent observer, he leaned against the cold stone wall, his gaze piercing through the brilliant light and shadow and the crowd below, landing precisely on the main seat in the banquet hall, which was raised like a small stage.

There, two beings sat solemnly.

Princess Tiades of the Golden Age. Princess Estella of the Silver Age.

Even from a considerable distance, even within the heart of this tower filled with ancient magic and aristocratic atmosphere, their presence remained like a lighthouse in the night, forcefully capturing all gazes directed in that direction.

Tiadera's purple gown resembled a frozen night sky, with stardust-like shimmering light flowing across it.

Those heterochromatic eyes, one of molten gold and the other of solidified silver, radiated a constant and cold divine brilliance even in the hall where the light and shadow shifted.

Estella's veil added a touch of mystery, but did nothing to diminish her breathtakingly perfect, innate beauty.

Matou Ike watched them silently. In those deep, black eyes that seemed to absorb all light, there was not a trace of the fanaticism, suffocation, or self-destructive disorientation that the guests below were experiencing.

There is only a cold, detached scrutiny, like an appraiser examining a rare treasure, or a hunter assessing the most dangerous beast in the jungle.

He saw something incredibly familiar in those two people.

Beautiful.

It is a kind of "beauty" that transcends ordinary understanding and is almost a law itself. It is not simply about exquisite features or elegant demeanor, but a "force field" that exists from the inside out, like the gravity of celestial bodies. It distorts perception, shakes the mind, and is the sharpest invisible blade in the world.

However, in the calm, still lake of Matou Pond, a very subtle ripple stirred, a feeling stemming from a comparative, almost instinctive perception:

Although... it's not as naturally perfect as Kiz's.

A name, a figure, flashed through the depths of his memory like a shadow.

but……

Matou Ike's gaze slowly swept over Tiadera's face, a masterpiece of creation, and then over the perfect outline that was faintly visible beneath Estella's veil.

...It is also an extremely beautiful thing.

He calmly admitted it.

Matouchi's low, almost whispered soliloquy, like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, dissipated in the shadows of the second floor:

"...Is that the Golden Princess? I've heard rumors about her, but I never imagined she reached that level. I have to admire Izeruma's history."

His gaze remained fixed on the shadows of the terrace, as if he were still savoring the divine beauty that seemed capable of tearing through time.

However, before the last syllable of his whisper had completely faded—

Snap, snap, snap——

The crisp, powerful, and rhythmic applause, like three pebbles thrown into a calm lake, suddenly echoed throughout the magnificent banquet hall below!

The applause wasn't thunderous, but it possessed a peculiar penetrating power, instantly drowning out the soft background music that had resumed, and tearing apart the suffocating atmosphere of bewilderment that remained after the Golden Princess's departure.

Everyone's attention was instantly drawn to it.

The applause came from an elderly woman who was over seventy years old.

She wasn't tall, but she stood straight like a cedar tree, a posture that even made many young people feel ashamed of themselves.

Her meticulously combed silver hair shone with a noble and cold luster, like wolf hair, setting off her face, which was covered with deep wrinkles but full of a resolute expression.

She wore a very fashionable, richly colored emerald green dress, which created a strong visual contrast with her silver hair.

At this moment, her hands, marked by the passage of time yet still sharp as a hawk's, were clapping slowly and deliberately, each clapping sound as clear as if striking the heartstrings of everyone present.

"—Impressive, Lord Bai Longqing."

The old woman's voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable sense of authority that came from years of experience.

Her gaze swept past the crowd and landed precisely on the entrance to the Tower of the Moon—there, Bai Longqing was leaning on his cane, bowing slightly, his face displaying just the right amount of respect and a hint of complex emotion that was hard to detect.

The hearty and powerful applause, coupled with her resolute attitude, seemed to possess some kind of invisible magic.

The magicians below, who were bewildered and even weeping from the shock of divine beauty, were jolted awake as if they had been doused with a bucket of ice water!

Their unfocused gazes refocused, their rapid breathing gradually calmed, and their stiff limbs regained sensation. The applause acted like a powerful and stable "mental anchor," forcefully pulling them back from the abyss of sensory collapse.

"Lord Balyeleta."

In the crowd, someone uttered the name in a low voice with reverence. Though the voice was soft, it was like a drop of water thrown into a hot oil pan, instantly stirring up a suppressed commotion and a sense of understanding among the guests who had regained their senses.

Barthomeloi.

One of the twelve Lords of the Clock Tower, and the current head of the Creation Department (Baruyereta).

As the monarch appeared and applause erupted, as if by an invisible signal, subtle movements once again came from the shadows of the terrace.

The breathtaking figures of the Golden Princess Tiadela and the Silver Princess Estella, guided silently by two mirror-like maids, slowly and completely retreated into the deep shadows, as if the gods had withdrawn their fleeting glimpse.

"Ooh..." Several suppressed groans, filled with pain and reluctance, came from the crowd.

How many magicians, after witnessing that extraordinary miracle, have had the crazy thought of freezing time forever, or even dying in the process?

No one knew. But that extreme longing and the immense disappointment that followed, like a tangible chill, permeated the air that had just begun to recover a little life.

Just then, the background music playing in the banquet hall changed its tune. A soothing, elegant melody, carrying a touch of languidness and dreamlike quality, flowed in—

That's Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade".

The melodious saxophone and the gentle orchestral music intertwine, like the tender moonlight trying to soothe the lingering fear left by the divine storm that has just passed.

However, this comforting melody failed to completely dispel a more powerful sense of presence.

Monarch Balyeleta changed direction.

She did not walk to the main seat, nor did she pay attention to Bai Longqing. Her sharp eyes, which seemed to be able to see into the soul, were like searchlights, accurately locking onto the shadowy corner where Tongchi was located in the second-floor corridor.

She strode forward, her movements slow but with an unstoppable, queenly aura, heading straight for the stairs.

She wore a knowing, even playful, smile, as if she already knew everything.