met free Page 622
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Unless it's a solid, head-on hit to a vital spot, it's difficult to even scratch the skin! That's why they can still leisurely enjoy the ancient pleasure of "cannibalism" to this day.
but--
This woman!
Facing an opponent who transcends human limits...
She! With just a pistol that can only fire in bursts! can, in the blink of an eye, with unparalleled precision, like an art form... pierce the monster's temple!
This skill, which can only be described as miraculous, is worth using this clumsy steel behemoth to satisfy all her whims!
"Although...her comedic talent is really nothing to write home about,"
As the priest skillfully and steadily brought the enormous "Song of Mercy to the Demons" to a stop beside the narrow country road, he pulled out his nearly worn-out notebook, muttering to himself.
"But as long as you don't waste the expensive equipment you bought as toys..."
He opened his notebook and began to record information using the faint red light from the dashboard.
“And… jokes that aren’t funny…” He paused, as if quoting some forgotten doctrine, “…are also one of the things a priest should love.”
It's as if they're looking for a sacred excuse for their compromise.
“If I just listen to one or two… well, maybe a dozen… of her capricious requests…” he quickly jotted down the list, “…it won’t be a punishment from the Lord, will it?”
He ultimately completed his psychological reconstruction with this utterly unconvincing self-comfort.
"Still the same old woman, making things difficult for you." He spoke into the communicator in a tone that was a mixture of indulgence and weariness, his sunny smile returning to its "bright" form.
"But that's the only skill she's good at. There's really nothing we can do about her."
He resigned himself to his fate and began checking the newly added orders.
Surprisingly...
The items ordered this time weren't weapons that could cause large-scale riots.
The list contains only a few things—
"Something you probably couldn't find even if you dug three feet into the ground in a pitifully small village, but could easily buy in a small town with a supermarket of any size?"
The priest raised an eyebrow, finding it somewhat intriguing. Turmeric powder? Some kind of... medicine? Or a seasoning? He struggled to search his meager repertoire of common sense.
“The first four are acceptable,” he said into the communicator, his tone much more relaxed, “but let’s skip the rest. We’ll see…”
He glanced at the remaining items, "...These aren't things you can buy in this godforsaken place, are they?"
The negotiations ended quickly.
A faint sigh came from the other end of the communicator, sounding somewhat troubled but helpless. The priest, on the other hand, breathed a long, genuine sigh of relief, as if he had been granted a pardon.
“Because there’s another place I need to visit along the way,” he announced cheerfully.
"So, when the scheduled time arrives... well, let's postpone it for another two days!"
After saying that, he abruptly ended the communication without waiting for a response.
Shirou hummed an off-key hymn, pushed open the heavy driver's side door, and jumped out of the car.
The cool night air of the countryside filled his nostrils. He stretched, his bones cracking slightly.
and many more……
He suddenly remembered something and stopped in his tracks.
Some of the items on the list... turmeric powder? It seems... that "companion" in the cargo box was carrying something similar?
“Excuse me,” Shirou said, walking to the back of the massive cargo box and knocking on the cold, riveted, heavy iron door. His voice carried a deliberate politeness, as if he were visiting a lady’s boudoir.
"May I come in, sister?"
There was a moment of silence inside.
Then, a calm, even sound, as if it had been controlled by a thermostat, pierced through the iron gate:
"—Please, I'm feeling bored anyway. Shirou."
Shirou turned the heavy valve, and with a screeching metallic scraping sound, the cargo box door slowly opened inward.
It was darker inside than the night, with thin lights flickering, barely enough to make out the depths.
Sleeping in the darkness are the organs of firearms, electronics, the gospel, and the devil.
The priest slipped inside and immediately closed and locked the door again.
The heavy sealing device emitted a dull "click" sound, ensuring that not a single drop of the "holy breath" inside would leak into the outside world.
After his eyes adjusted to the dimness inside, Shirou looked into the depths.
His "companion" lay sprawled on a simple metal table that resembled a medical bed frame.
Two days have passed since I last checked.
"It looks terrible."
As Shirou approached, his sunny smile took on an indescribable... habitual concern when faced with this scene.
The opponent's condition was clearly not good.
"Mmm." The figure on the bed frame murmured, the voice still steady, yet it sounded as if it were coming from behind thick glass.
“Because people in the countryside…have deep beliefs…they are easily influenced.” This seems to be an explanation for her poor condition.
"But the way it is now..."
She paused, and beneath her steady voice seemed to lie a twisted sense of satisfaction.
"...It's 'prettier' than when I was in the city. Although my body shape is easily changed... as compensation, the pain is... quite comfortable."
"That's good."
The priest's face immediately broke into a pure, satisfied smile, as if the other person were simply reporting a pleasant picnic experience.
He completely ignored the strangeness of the paradoxical combination of "pain" and "comfort," and instead brought up the order he had just received with great interest:
"Oh right, I just received an additional order from that person, it includes turmeric powder...wait, what is turmeric powder?"
His face was full of pure curiosity, like a child with a strong thirst for knowledge.
"Ah, I think it's probably a kind of medicine? Well, it's said to be mainly used for consumption."
He guessed to himself, then looked at his companion expectantly: "Did you bring any?"
"........."
In the darkness, his companion seemed to fall silent for a moment.
When that calm, even voice rang out again, it carried a hint of something extremely rare—a chilling disgust:
"I don't have what you're talking about. The only powdery thing I have is Sichuan peppercorn powder."
"Haha, really?" Shirou scratched his head, his sunny smile still bright, clearly unaware of the change in the other person's tone.
"Yeah, although I think they look a lot alike."
He said it in a very casual way.
"This is an irreparable mistake."
His companion's voice suddenly rose a notch, and a crack seemed to appear in the otherwise composed mask, revealing a sharp displeasure beneath.
"Please don't mistake them for the same thing!"
His companion was clearly in a bad mood.
This was quite rare for her, who usually ignored everything and whose emotions were as stable as a precision machine.
however……
Extremely unfortunate.
Our Father Shiro, with his sunny disposition and easygoing nature, had long since lost the luxurious sensitivity to perceive such subtle emotional changes around him during his long monastic life and the roar of piloting this steel behemoth.
Chapter 651 An Encounter (4k)
The details of the subsequent cooperation with the El-Melloi family have finally come to a temporary end after a long discussion that was almost a showdown with tacit silence.
Matou Ike's figure disappeared silently at the doorway of El-Melloi II's office, shrouded in cigar smoke and heavy reality, like a ghost merging into the shadows.
The next moment, he found himself on the streets of London.
The expected ruins did not appear.
The anticipated screams of panic and towering flames did not fill our ears or our vision.
The scene before me carried an almost surreal... tranquility.
Yes, calm.
Despite the indescribable stench in the air, a mixture of ozone, excessive magical energy, and the lingering sulfurous smell of ancient ley lines—
That was the "traumatic" mark inevitably left after Albion awoke and forcibly broke through the barrier between the inner sea of the star and the surface of the planet.
Although the leaden sky overhead seemed more oppressive and somber than usual, occasional distorted and indescribable halos flashed by, indicating that the spatial structure was not yet fully calmed down.
Despite the distant horizon, a muffled roar, as if the earth itself were still convulsing, could be faintly heard—the aftershocks of a colossal planet turning over.
But London, this foggy city steeped in history, has miraculously retained its main structure.
The ancient stone buildings stand silently on the banks of the Thames. Although some of the Victorian gas lamps have been replaced by modern lights, the remaining ones light up one by one in the twilight, casting a dim and steady halo.
On the streets, vehicles moved in a slightly sparse but still orderly manner, and although pedestrians walked hurriedly, they did not fall into a chaotic escape.
They could even hear distant, distorted bell tolls, disturbed by magic.
This is by no means luck.
This is practically an isolated, illogical island amidst the global cognitive tsunami and physical upheavals.
The root of all these "miracles" lies in...
Matou Ike's deep, azure demonic eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze seemingly piercing through the surface of the material world.
He can "see".
In the air, countless invisible, complex runes made of pure magic flickered, flowed, and intertwined to form a vast and terrifying network of barriers covering the entire city of London.