Magician in Type-Moon

Page 644

He was the first to push open the carriage door and step down. Under his feet was a carefully manicured stone floor, carrying the damp coolness of the lake district.

Arcueid followed closely behind, landing lightly beside him, her amber eyes curiously examining the leaning behemoth before her and the ancient vines clinging to its body.

The moment the two of them regained their footing, something unexpected happened.

The coachman, along with his exquisite carriage and the two sturdy chestnut horses, began to "melt" silently, like an ice sculpture thrown into molten wax.

There was no blinding light, no violent magical fluctuations, only a visually striking, almost dreamlike distortion and collapse. Tall human figures, the agile silhouettes of horses, the wooden frame of a carriage…

Everything softened, flowed, and contracted in an instant.

In just a breath or two, only a small, brightly colored tin toy soldier and a tiny, equally exquisite wooden carriage, no bigger than the palm of your hand, remained on the spot.

They lay quietly on the cold stone slabs, as if the magnificent carriages that had just carried two passengers through the lake district were nothing more than an elaborately choreographed dream from a fairy tale world.

"..." Matou Ike's gaze fell on the small pile of toys, a hint of understanding flashing in his deep eyes, which then turned into a low groan that was almost a sigh:

"...As expected of the main branch of the Creative Department, they are quite good at these kinds of 'tricks'?"

This kind of magic, which instantly "degrades" or "plays childlike" complex creations, carries a typical creative science style—manipulating reality and giving creations a dramatic life and end.

Rather than a practical magic trick, it was more of a meticulously designed, silent display of intimidation and power.

"—It is an honor to receive such praise."

A deep, mellow baritone voice, with an aristocratic air of composure, flowed from the deep entrance of the Moon Tower like fine velvet, perfectly catching up with Matou Ike's words.

The shadows parted, and a gentleman appeared inside the tower gate. He was around forty-five years old, and his well-trimmed beard added a touch of refinement and dignity to his slightly serious face.

Beneath a head of meticulously combed dark brown hair are a pair of deep, scrutinizing eyes.

He wore a perfectly tailored crimson suit, which, like congealed blood, stood out conspicuously and exuded a sense of oppression against the dark backdrop of the tower.

It is worth noting that he was leaning on an ebony cane with some kind of dark gemstone inlaid at the top, and his movements carried a hint of sluggishness due to his leg disability that was hard to completely conceal.

"Welcome, Lord Matou." The gentleman bowed slightly, his posture respectful yet dignified as the head of the household, his movements fluid and natural, as if the cane were merely an embellishment to his elegant demeanor.

“I am Baron Baljereta Izeruma. Thank you for coming all this way despite the difficulties.”

His voice was steady and powerful, echoing clearly in the silent space before the entrance to the Tower of the Moon.

"The head of Izeruma?" Matou Ike nodded slightly in return, his posture equally impeccable, his voice calm and even. "Forgive me for not being able to greet you sooner."

A perfectly measured, aristocratic smile appeared on Bai Longqing's lips, a smile that seemed precisely measured, neither overly warm nor impolite.

He didn't exchange many pleasantries, but simply turned gracefully to the side and pointed with his free hand to the deep and magnificent entrance of the Moon Tower behind him, which resembled the throat of a giant beast.

"Please come in," his voice carried an undeniable invitation, his gaze lingering briefly on Arcueid behind Matou Ike, a subtle, inscrutable probing flickering in his eyes.

"The banquet has begun."

As he spoke, a mixture of old parchment, rare spices, expensive cigars, and...

A deeper, more indescribable, icy scent, belonging to the ancient magic workshop itself, wafted from the tower, instantly replacing the crisp air by the lake.

That deep entrance seemed to lead to another completely different world, sealed away by time and mysteries.

Chapter 669 Gold and Silver (4k)

The crystal chandelier refracted a dazzling yet gentle light, making the gilded reliefs and heavy velvet curtains shimmer and glow.

The air was filled with the aroma of expensive perfumes, cigar tobacco, and fine food.

Amidst the fragrance of fine clothes and the clinking of glasses, whispers and gentle laughter weave a glamorous backdrop.

However, in the heart of this glitz and glamour, two figures stood out as if they were out of place, yet they also blended seamlessly into the interplay of light and shadow.

The bald man—Alexandre Dumas—was dressed in a well-tailored dark suit, which barely concealed his ruggedness. However, his signature gold tooth still flashed a slightly vulgar light when he raised his glass to sip expensive champagne.

He wore an overly flamboyant social smile, but his eyes swept across the guests like a hawk, with a playful and scrutinizing gaze.

“Look at this place, brother,” he whispered to the man in the trench coat beside him, turning his head to the side, his voice full of deliberate amazement.

"A birdcage piled high with gold, housing a flock of self-important canaries. Tsk tsk, even the air is so expensive that you'd want to pack it up and take it with you."

He swirled the golden liquid in his glass, his gold teeth flashing again under the light. "Although no woman is still throwing herself at me, this wine... at least I can rinse my mouth."

His master—the man in the trench coat—also changed into an elegant formal suit, which accentuated his tall and slender figure even more.

He was also holding a glass of wine, but he hardly touched it.

His expression was more composed than ever before; one could even say it was a near-perfect, flawless social mask.

Only those familiar with him, like Alexandre Dumas, could perceive the ever-tense tension in his overly steady breathing and the lightning-fast glances that occasionally swept across the entrance and exit.

"Silence, Caster." The Master's voice was as steady as a whisper, his lips barely moving.

"Ouk, Ouk,"

Alexandre Dumas drew out his words, his face plastered with an exaggerated smile, the gleam of his gold teeth particularly dazzling under the bright chandelier, and he shrugged indifferently.

"Although I don't approve of what you're doing now—a person rushing towards a tiny insect in the center of a spider web looks like a suicide scene from a third-rate script—but since it's your decision, Master..."

He paused deliberately, his gaze sweeping over his Master—Settra—whose face, beneath the perfect social mask, remained perfectly still, controlling even the slightest muscle movement.

Ugh, how boring.

They couldn't even squeeze out the slightest bit of "being questioned".

"...Then I'll head out first."

His tone shifted, becoming deliberately lighthearted, and his body moved like a slippery fish, retreating towards the group of wealthy ladies and socialites who were laughing like silver bells and holding champagne glasses not far away.

He gave an exaggerated, half-serious bow, which made several of the ladies cover their mouths and chuckle, their eyes lingering on his gleaming gold teeth and cynical smile.

Setra—the former sergeant major of the Imperial Sorcerer Guild—only gave him a very brief, cold glance out of the corner of her eye.

There was no approval, no worry, not even the suppressed anger usually stirred up by Dumas in his eyes; there was only a pure, task-oriented indifference.

It's as if Alexandre Dumas really was just a tool that needed to be temporarily moved aside, an inconvenience.

Then, Setra turned around naturally, her impeccable social mask remaining perfectly in place.

He picked up the almost untouched glass of champagne in his hand and walked steadily and unhurriedly toward another group of magic aristocrats who seemed to be discussing art collections.

As Setra's steady steps reached the edge of the circle of people, he clearly caught the hushed yet crucial conversation in his ears:

"Izeruma, is the Golden Princess and Silver Princess of this generation about to appear?"

"That's right,"

The middle-aged man, known as Izeluma, nodded slightly. His well-maintained face held an expression that was a mixture of expectation and solemnity. His voice was very low, yet it clearly reached Setra's keen ears.

"They will show up tonight."

The moment she finished speaking, Izeruma's gaze caught that Setra was walking towards her.

His face immediately displayed just the right amount of social surprise and familiarity, as if the private conversation had never happened.

“Mr. Setra! You’ve arrived,” Izeruma’s voice returned to normal volume, with just the right amount of warmth, as he gracefully raised his wine glass.

"I didn't think you would grace us with your presence today, what a delightful surprise."

Setra's impeccable social facade remained unmoved; she merely gave a slight, natural nod in return, a perfectly timed faint smile playing on her lips, preparing to respond to this insincere greeting—

"Whoosh—!"

A tremendous sound, indescribable in words, seemingly a confluence of countless exclamations, gasps, the clinking of glasses, and sudden silences of whispers, erupted from the depths of the hall like a tangible tsunami!

The sound wave swept through the entire magnificent space, instantly drowning out all other sounds.

Izeruma's hand, raised to the glass, froze in mid-air. His smile solidified, and a knowing look mixed with a deeper gravity flashed in his eyes. He murmured, his voice almost swallowed by the lingering cheers:

"It looks like the Golden Princess has made her appearance."

Setra, taking the opportunity, turned around very naturally, casting his gaze toward the source of the sound—the depths of the hall.

There stands a magnificent spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

At this moment, on the platform extending from the second floor like a terrace, a pair of maids, like mirror images of each other, stood quietly.

Their figures were upright and their appearances were unbelievably beautiful. Their extraordinary refinement and synchronized movements were enough to make a first-time visitor mistake them for the legendary gold and silver themselves. Their very existence was a silent declaration.

After attracting everyone's attention, the two maids perfectly synchronized their movements, lifting their skirts and performing an impeccable curtsy.

Then, their clear voices, like a chorus of silver bells, pierced through the still-simmering sound waves and called out to the deep shadows behind them:

"Lady Tiadera—"

"Lady Estella—"

"Please come in."

"Please come in." — The final words were spoken in unison by the two, like the completion of a ritual.

Immediately afterwards——

Time was torn apart.

All sensory perceptions are brutally stripped away, kneaded, and then discarded in that instant. Along with the stale word "instant," which attempts to measure eternity, it is violently flung away by an invisible force and crushed into dust.

From the carefully crafted, velvety deep shadows of the terrace, two colors slowly separate and flow out.

Purple.

That was the color of one of the gowns. Deep, mysterious, as if it contained the deepest dreams of the night sky and the sighs of stardust. The figure it enveloped, even just its outline, made the crystal chandeliers of the entire magnificent hall pale in comparison.

Then, there's the face.

Looking down into the eyes of humanity—eyes that no human could possibly possess. One is molten gold, flowing with the intensity of the sun's core and its immortal majesty; the other is solidified silver, containing the coldest radiance of the moon and its timeless tranquility.

The ideal nose bridge—its perfect and upright lines surpass the imagination of any artist.

The closed lips—their shape was breathtakingly beautiful, their color like the petals of a rose that had just bloomed in the legendary Pure Land of Bliss and would never fade.

Princess Tiadera of the Gold Kingdom and Princess Estella of the Silver Kingdom.

They stood side by side on the edge of the terrace, without saying a word or making any unnecessary movements.

Its very existence constitutes an absolute gravitational singularity, irresistibly attracting, distorting, and solidifying the light, sound, atmosphere, and even the will of all the guests in the entire auditorium.

“I am Tiadera Balereta Izeruma, who inherited the name of the Golden Princess.”

The sound itself had no deliberately applied magic; its timbre was even described as clear and melodious, like ice spring water dripping onto a jade plate.

However, when it flows from those lips that embody divine beauty, it seems to contain the weight of the first note at the beginning of the universe, directly imprinted on the core of the soul of every listener.