Magician in Type-Moon

Page 330

But it seems that the power is still above it.

"The Night Raiders' family actually possesses something like this? But wouldn't this blade be able to cut through the barrier of this mountain?"

The man with the gun stared wide-eyed as he realized his attack had failed.

"Don't worry. Although this knife is said to be a heirloom of Muramasa, we sharpened it using water from the mountain river."

In contrast, Xuexin's expression remained unchanged.

Even the Night Calamity Clan members behind him, who were gradually losing ground, did not stir any emotion in him.

"Muramasa? That's quite a name... But why are you unwilling to accept our request? You should be able to tell that you could barely use that guy if you took it."

The man with the gun glanced at the cage behind him and asked casually.

"You're talking way too much..."

Xuexin once again adopted the alien-like stance.

He didn't intend to let the other person finish speaking.

From the perspective of the Yakuza, the arrogant aristocratic air of a magician is also incompatible with him.

With a 'thud,' his body began to slide.

Success? No, it will be blocked.

While casually dealing with the magicians attacking him with Night Raid magic, Matou Ike calmly assessed the situation.

The judgment that emerged in his mind overlapped with the scene he had envisioned.

really--

Just as Xue Xin's blade was about to touch the man, the man's spear suddenly emitted a dazzling light, and a powerful surge of energy burst forth, forcefully blocking Xue Xin's attack.

The collision of the two forces generated tremendous wind pressure, stirring up the surrounding dust and small pebbles, and filling the air with a thick smell of gunpowder.

"That guy's acting a bit strange..." Matou Ike muttered.

Ye Jiexuexin was forced back half a step. He looked down at the knife in his hand. It was still as white as ever, but it made a faint sound, as if it was chanting something.

“You’re different from everyone else… what exactly are you?” Xue Xin frowned, her tone tinged with a hint of probing.

"Ah? You saw through me already." Upon hearing this, the man raised his hand and flicked it lightly, his spear drawing a smooth arc with a hint of mockery. "However, this is a secret, I can't tell you."

His words were casual, as if he didn't take the threat at all seriously.

However, the next moment, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, and his tone revealed a hint of excitement:

"However, it's been a long time since I've had such a satisfying fight. I never expected to encounter someone like you, someone born to fight. Is this what you call exorcism techniques? Although they're just minor skills, they're certainly impressive enough."

"You seem to study very hard. You know so much," Ye Jiexue retorted.

"Huh? I'm genuinely praising you." The man chuckled, his gaze sweeping over his companions standing at the edge of the battlefield, wielding various magical artifacts, a clear look of disdain on his face.

"Look at them, they're like children waving knives and sticks around wildly, completely clueless about how to use them. If they weren't like that, this door would have been breached long ago, wouldn't it?"

He spoke recklessly, making no attempt to hide his contempt for his own camp, as if it had nothing to do with him.

However, Kirie Ike strongly agrees with this.

But a Noble Phantasm is still a Noble Phantasm. Even a child who picks up a gun can defeat an unarmed adult.

Therefore, the only person on Ye Jie's side who can break the deadlock is Ye Jie Xue Xin, who wields the ancient sword.

Does he have any other options?

the answer is--

"retreat."

Night Robbery Snow Letter issued this order to everyone, including Matou Ike.

A command that is both reasonable and unreasonable.

Chapter 382 Star Netherworld 4k

After the blade swept across the ground, deep cracks were etched into the dark earth. The marks, as gruesome as wounds, spread out in a radial pattern, as if telling the story of the violence and ferocity of that moment.

The air was thick with a scorching smell, mixed with the acrid stench of churning earth and stone, making it almost suffocating.

Everything around seemed to freeze for a moment before slowly returning to normal. The wind stirred up the remaining ashes, making the land appear even more desolate.

After Ye Jiexue issued the announcement of "retreat," a section of road several tens of meters long was dug out in the direction Muramasa's blade was pointing.

Like the road surface, the trees and torii gates were also cut down and are now slowly falling, with large amounts of dust floating around.

It was like an invisible giant wielding a giant cleaver.

This bought the magicians from the Night Raid a precious respite and time to evacuate.

In contrast, the members of the Imperial Sorcerer Guild did not launch a pursuit.

They stopped in front of the crumbling road, their weapons hanging slightly, clearly not in a hurry to take any further action.

Their silence was not out of fear of Night Raid's power, but because their goal from the beginning was not to completely annihilate the Night Raid's magicians.

Ye Jiexue glanced back, her lips twitching slightly, as if she disdained the enemy's composure, but she remained silent.

He sheathed the Muramasa, the white blade vanishing into the black dust in an instant, leaving behind only a quiet and oppressive atmosphere.

The man holding the spear nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping impatiently over his companions who had stopped moving and the remaining body parts on the ground.

He turned to the magician who had previously been in charge of negotiating with Ye Jie Xuexin and said in a slightly mocking tone:

"Should we proceed with the next step of the plan, or should you go and report to your superiors again, wait for approval, and then take action?"

The magician was momentarily taken aback by the spearman's question, a barely perceptible twitch appearing between his brows, but he quickly regained his composure. He coughed lightly, as if to conceal a hint of displeasure, and then said coldly:

“This is the work process. I think it’s necessary to give the commander a full understanding of the situation on the front lines in order to formulate subsequent strategies.”

His tone was firm, as if he wanted to emphasize the importance of the process, while also subtly refuting the other party's doubts.

The man with the long spear stopped, turned around and glanced at him, a meaningful smile playing on his lips: "Oh? The situation at the front."

His gaze swept over the road severed by the Nightfall Snow Letter and the devastated scene, his tone tinged with a hint of mockery, "So, is this mess enough for the Commander to 'fully understand'?"

The magician's expression darkened slightly, but he didn't argue further. He simply pursed his lips and stared coldly at the man with the spear. The atmosphere between the two became somewhat tense.

However, the man with the spear did not continue to make things difficult; he shrugged and looked away.

"Whatever, I only care about whether the mission is completed." He turned and continued forward, his tone slightly dismissive. "Hopefully, after you finish your report, Nightfall won't make any unexpected moves."

.........

In the dimly lit secret meeting place, a somber atmosphere permeated the air, and only two figures were present.

No, it should be said that one person, one heroic spirit.

The Master stood before the table, his brow furrowed, his gaze fixed on the tabletop piled high with documents and maps, as if searching for some answer within these static records. His thoughts were as complex as a labyrinth, and he remained silent for a long time.

The spirit standing behind him—Alexandre Dumas—was completely unfazed by the somber atmosphere. He curled the corners of his lips into a chuckle, the sound echoing in the narrow space, sounding particularly flippant:

"This isn't the path you chose yourself, so is it necessary to look so gloomy?"

The sergeant's thoughts were pulled back, and he looked up at Alexandre Dumas: "The casualties are greater than I expected. We lost three men in this operation. They were all valuable soldiers of the Empire."

Dumas's expression remained unwavering; instead, it revealed a subtle interest.

He raised a hand, waving his index finger in mid-air as if refuting his Master's opinion: "Precious? Aha, to me it doesn't sound like pity for life, but more like regret for 'resources'."

"These are all your faults. The Noble Phantasm you created is not as powerful as you imagined."

Faced with his Master's questioning, Alexandre Dumas raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips:

"Huh? How can you blame me for this?"

He strode over to the table, leaned down close to his Master, and tapped the map on the table with his finger: "I know you're sulking, but in the end, isn't it because you're too impatient?"

Then he spread his hands, his tone deliberately relaxed, even with a hint of sarcasm:

"The Noble Phantasms I create are imbued with elements of historical legends! The longer you wait, the more skills your warriors can learn from them, the stronger they become, and perhaps in the end they can truly rival Heroic Spirits, turning the fake into the real."

He paused, his gaze becoming meaningful:

"And what about you? You couldn't wait to throw them into the battlefield. Or rather, you personally sent those guys into the cycle of death. So stop pretending, there are only the two of us here, and everyone knows what's going on."

The sergeant's gaze swept coldly over the heroic spirit before him: "But you didn't tell me any of this beforehand. You tricked me."

Dumas, however, laughed nonchalantly, spreading his hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world:

"Because I don't think it's necessary to say it."

He paused, a deeper smile curving his lips, a hint of provocation in his eyes. "Anyway, according to your plan, aren't those guys just materials and resources?"

His words were like a fire, igniting a certain chord in the sergeant major's heart.

Light streamed through the dimly lit assembly hall, illuminating Alexandre Dumas's wide-open mouth. His gold teeth gleamed brilliantly in the dim light.

The sergeant major was silent for a moment, then let out a cold snort: "Hmph."

This silence is more like a silent acquiescence, acknowledging the legitimacy of the heroic spirits' actions.

Despite his dissatisfaction with the other party's attitude, he had to admit that, in some respects, this heroic spirit did indeed have unique insights.

Perhaps their compatibility isn't so bad; they just seem strange in certain details of their perception of each other.

The sergeant raised his eyes, looking intently at Dumas, his tone calm but tinged with a hint of probing:

"So, what do you, the great writer, think I should do next? Continue to cooperate with those guys at the Mountain Court, or..."

He didn't finish his sentence, waiting for Alexandre Dumas's response.

Upon hearing this, Alexandre Dumas raised an eyebrow, a meaningful smile playing on his lips. He lightly flicked his quill, as if writing a non-existent script in the air.

"Hmm, that's an extremely interesting question."

Alexandre Dumas feigned deep thought for a moment, then looked up, a meaningful smile playing on his lips:

"In terms of writing style, what the protagonist should be doing now is to drive away one tiger and devour another, and then dance on the edge of a knife. Wouldn't such an development be more attractive to readers?"

The sergeant squinted, clearly not buying the analogy, but did not immediately refute it.

He took off his military cap, bent down and wiped the edge, as if to hide his thoughts.

"Is that so? That certainly sounds like a more conventional way of writing it, but what I want to ask you is—"