Magician in Type-Moon

Page 572

“Then, to make eternal gold decay…” he murmured, his fingertips tracing the intricate structural formulas in the air, “…we must start with faith itself.”

Deconstruct it from the opposite of faith—question its "credibility," strip it of its "expectations," and dismantle its "authority."

By subverting the three elements that constitute the magic logic of this gold coin, it can no longer be "eternal gold," but rather "dead gold" that is corroded, collapsed, and can no longer bear any meaning.

Is this the answer you gave?

Dr. Hartress.

If we can crack the spell on the gold coin, we can then rebuild it in reverse.

Then you can get gold equivalent to "rusted iron".

"Damn oranges..."

Matou Ike gritted his teeth and muttered a curse under his breath.

The voice was soft, yet filled with resentment.

Just a few days ago, a certain Miss Red, who was suffering from pain, confidently told him that breaking this spell was as simple as "smashing a hollow glass ball with a hammer."

Chapter 611 Giving Up (4k)

"Meastia?"

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze, followed by an almost imperceptible pulse that quietly spread along the spiritual foundations of the monarchs around the long table.

Silence arose from astonishment, and from silence grew new questions and confrontations.

This is a logic completely different from that of the modern Magic Association.

It is not a blood debt settlement between private individuals, nor an emotional trial triggered by the death of a disciple, but rather, in the name of the "monarch," the wounds are transformed into a "structural burden" between factions, and then the cost is recovered through the system.

Magdana had no intention of providing compensation to the victims—he didn't even acknowledge that anyone in this incident was entitled to compensation from him.

This wasn't cold-bloodedness, but rather the logic he adhered to. As a representative of "Meastia," one had to bear the debts in the name of the faction as a whole—

Instead of making individual repentance as a "father" or "accomplice".

However, the most crucial question arises:

"The monarch of Meastia did not appear."

The central figure who now truly controls the Department of Modern Magic was absent from this roundtable meeting from beginning to end—his name was not even mentioned.

Magdana was the monarch's father, agent, and possibly even the mastermind behind the scenes... but he was ultimately not the "master".

That is to say, although Magdana spoke with great conviction, it is very likely that his actions were unauthorized and that his endorsement was not even valid.

"so……"

Rufreus spoke, his hoarse and low voice sounding as if striking some indescribable nerve.

"What about Hartres's... 'accomplice'... that matter...?"

The atmosphere in the room tensed up again. Although they maintained a facade of rationality, everyone involved in this game knew that Rufreus's question was not arbitrary—

Instead, it directly targets Magdana's own "positioning".

"Based on the conversation we just had... this big idiot is the accomplice, isn't he...!"

The old man's emotions quickly escalated, and his voice rose several decibels.

"This guy actually calls that kind of... ridiculous plan to create gods to exist as magicians... a 'good idea'..."

The words that came out of his mouth were not just accusations, but also contempt—the disappointment and anger of an old magician from a previous era who felt that "modern ethics" had long since broken away from the foundation of magic.

Magdana, on the other hand, adopted an exaggeratedly innocent posture, like a drunkard who had been splashed in the face and shrugged helplessly.

“Oh dear, I did say it was a good idea—I admit it, without reservation.”

He spread his arms, almost in a crucifixion pose, "But to say I'm an accomplice based on this alone is too much to ask, isn't it?"

He paused, a slight smirk playing on his lips, his tone carrying a deliberately malicious ease:

“After all, following the logic I just used, if Hartres’ actions do not represent him personally, but rather his faction, then wouldn’t that just prove that… my daughter, the current monarch of Meastia, has already begun trying to weaken his power?”

He glanced sideways at Rufreus, as if throwing a mocking dagger:

"Besides, old sir, didn't you just say that even if Hartres lost a few disciples, it wouldn't concern us—"

That's a brilliant move.

Magdana, while feigning self-deprecation, was actually turning defense into offense, throwing back at Rufreus's earlier "cold declaration."

If the cost of the individual is denied, then there is no right to demand accountability from the individual.

The situation is shaking violently in silence.

The invisible scales—simulated through some kind of magical ritual as "the will of the people"—are swinging wildly.

The scales tilted faster and faster, never truly still for a moment. They carried power, responsibility, and the symbolic authority to impose sanctions.

"...Please allow me to confirm."

El-Melloi II turned to Asila, his tone as calm as if he were reciting an experimental record.

"Confirm what?" Ashira raised an eyebrow slightly.

“You have contact with Magdana. You know about Kuro’s abilities and somehow induced him.” The Second paused, his gaze deepening. “I suspect you originally intended to lead him to the Meastia faction and have him join Magdana. Is that right?”

"...That's exactly right."

Ashira nodded, her voice slightly lower than before.

She hesitated for a moment, perhaps considering whether her father would mind that she had been too quick to confess.

“But things didn’t go as planned; he made contact with Hartres.” The Second’s tone was gentle, yet relentlessly pressing. “This change was not what you had originally anticipated, was it?”

"That's absolutely right."

After receiving confirmation, the Second Prince lowered his eyes thoughtfully.

He quickly simulated in his mind the subsequent course of the meeting, the reactions of various factions, and the possible shifts in the Libra system—

Three seconds later, he declared:

"I hereby abandon the search for Dr. Hartrace's accomplices."

"Huh...!? El-Melloi, what are you talking about?!"

Olga Marie almost jumped off her chair, her eyes wide open as if they could fit an entire magic crystal inside.

--how so?

This is not the kind of ending a detective should have.

The truth should be revealed at the very end, bringing the guilty to justice, rather than being abandoned at this moment, when the answer is about to be revealed.

But El-Melloi II's expression was so resolute that no one could doubt whether he was wavering.

"I'll repeat it again."

His gaze swept over everyone present, and he repeated, word by word, "I give up searching for accomplices."

At this moment, even Inola, who had been sitting calmly at the far end, chuckled softly, a rare hint of amusement appearing in her eyes.

"You've messed things up to this point, and now you're choosing to back out?" she said slowly. "Your behavior is both willful... and intriguing."

Her disciple, Aozaki Touko, had already covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling slightly.

She struggled to suppress her laughter, her eyes almost gleaming.

She wasn't listening to an argument; she was watching a performance.

A strategist who manipulates structure, law, and symbolism is using language more dangerous than reasoning to push the entire meeting to the brink of disaster.

"...However, I have another proposal."

Everyone's gaze sharpened. Orange blinked, finally suppressing her smile.

"Trampelli once said that he would entrust the right to vote... to Meastia."

“Yes, I did say that.” Magdana nodded, a smile still on his face.

Without hesitation, El-Melloi II played his next card:

"Then, the El-Melloi faction, relinquish your voting rights in the Grand Order decision."

Silence. This time, it was a true, complete silence.

"……you……!"

Rufreus jumped up from his seat, his voice almost trembling with shock.

"Everyone just needs to do it this way."

El-Melloi II's voice was low and slow, as if he had swallowed the weight of the entire meeting before uttering a well-formed answer.

"Let's pretend this meeting never happened."

"...Treat the Grand Order decision...as if it never happened?"

Olga Marie paused for a moment, her voice sounding slightly hollow.

She knew, of course, that this was no joke.

"The existence of the Crown Decision was known only to the monarch and a very small number of related parties."

The Second King continued, as if stating a cold fact, “If all of us present simultaneously relinquish our rights and insist to the outside world that this event never took place, it will be enough to make it disappear completely from the records.”

This is not a simple cover-up, but a pact of collective amnesia.

Once it's agreed upon, there are no witnesses, no records, no liability, and no future troubles.

This was precisely the "end point" that El-Melloi II had been pursuing from beginning to end.

He didn't come here to solve a case.

It is not about making everyone lay down their weapons and turning the council table into a truce.

He meticulously identified each monarch's weaknesses and the consequences they would incur, weaving them into an inescapable web of defense.

Then, with this net, they would gain everyone's concessions and silence.

For aristocrats, this would prevent the "Albion Redevelopment Project" from proceeding and fundamentally maintain the system of traditional privileges;