Magician in Type-Moon

Page 551

That is--

A crystalline organ, embedded at the junction of flesh and carapace, gleamed with an eerie and ominous glow, as if it had hatched from the deep sediments of a planet that did not belong to this planet.

“…Eyes?” Yvette murmured.

No, those are eyes that no human or any known life form could possess.

That structure itself completely violates the fundamental logic of biological evolution and magic theory.

The instant that "eye" opened, Matou Ike's entire body felt as if his nerves had been short-circuited by the surging magical power, tightening with a sharp pain.

A familiar—no, almost undeniable—wave swept through his senses.

That was an echo he could only perceive when he touched the "inhuman realm" in the deepest part of Albion.

That is the pulse of mystery itself.

"H-How is this possible...!"

Yvette's voice changed, as if she was about to shout out a protective spell, but the words were stuck in her throat.

"It's... a Mystic Species with Mystic Eyes?!" Furu exclaimed in a low voice, his tone filled with undisguised trembling.

Magic Eye.

That magical organ should have been extremely rare, existing only in the bloodlines of specific magicians and superpowered individuals—

Now, like fruit from a plant, they emerge from the heads of these eyeless worms.

And there was more than one.

In the next instant, dozens of worm-like monsters simultaneously deployed their crystalline organs.

Their "eyes" opened simultaneously in the darkness.

In an instant, the entire space seemed to be filled with otherworldly light, and the impact it emitted was like the shockwave in one's brain when being watched by a god.

--Then.

The three of them suddenly froze in mid-air.

As if suspended high by invisible ropes, limbs, consciousness, and magic circuits are all frozen.

The ceremonial attire, which should have been gliding smoothly, lost power, and their suspended posture collapsed violently, yet they were unable to adjust even an inch of their limbs.

They remained suspended in mid-air, each maintaining their own posture.

This is a common "hint" effect in low-level magic eyes.

This shouldn't pose a real threat to a well-trained magician.

But this time is different.

The Mystic Eye activated by a fantasy species is equivalent to nature itself "gazing" at the observer.

Without warning, in the chaotic battlefield, it possessed a coercive force capable of reversing everything.

Only one person was not bound by the chains of "gazing".

"...It's right here."

A calm voice brushed past my ear like mist.

Matou Ike's figure burst forth from the sky, moving against the wind, and gliding lightly through the solidified magic field.

He wasn't immune to the Demon Eye; rather, he severed the connection between his vision and nerves the instant before his eyes opened.

It was as if this moment had been foreshadowed, and they were willing to pay the price of temporary "blindness."

His right arm extended rapidly through the air like a snake, its muscles stretching and growing under the power of magic, its knuckles sharp and curved, like a steel hook that could pierce through any dead end.

Magic gathered in the palm, stirring up sharp fluctuations like crystal oscillations.

That wasn't a regular attack magic, but an interference technique specifically designed to hunt down the Mystic Eye.

—The next moment.

A pure white flame exploded on the monster's forehead.

The earthworm at the very front raised its head and hissed, its huge body convulsing violently, the air vibrating like thunder from its struggle.

And its "magic eye," which should have dominated the battle—

*Pop*

The dull cracking sound seemed to strike a nerve node.

The crystalline eyeball seemed to be pierced by an invisible dagger, bursting out blackish-purple viscous fluid amidst high-frequency interference, and shattering into ominous fragments.

What followed was the collapse of the entire group.

One, two, a dozen or so—

Like a chain reaction spiraling out of control, other "magic eyes" within the earthworm colony also shattered and collapsed one after another.

Eyeballs detached from flesh and blood, rolling around like otherworldly fruits falling from the branches of the Nightmare Tree.

Furu stared blankly at Matou Ike, as if time had frozen in his eyes.

At that moment, he felt as if he were in the very eye of a storm, with all the surrounding noise gone, leaving only his solitary silhouette breaking through the impasse imprinted on his retina.

"...A magic trick? No... In this environment, the shorter the project, the harder it is to launch..."

He murmured, his tone shifting from confusion to shock: "So it's—the Mystic Eyes...you yourself possess the Mystic Eyes?"

His pupils contracted slightly, as if he had finally seen the truth that the young man had been suppressing for so long.

"Just how many possibilities did you rehearse?"

The next second, Matou Ike's long-hidden demonic eyes flashed slightly.

In that instant, the "hints" created by the Demon Eye were forcibly deconstructed.

As the chain snapped, the costumes on the three seemed to be unleashed, restarting their magical engines from a state of stillness.

Power returns, wings unfold, and magic re-infuses into every meridian of the body.

"Let's go down!"

With a low shout, Matou Ike patted the dress on his shoulder, and the Wings of Icarus instantly unfurled. Silver-white feather blades sliced ​​through the dense air pressure, like light arrows derailed from their course, plummeting straight into the abyss.

Yvette and Fru also resumed their movements almost simultaneously, rapidly adjusting their fall trajectory and gliding between the remaining light dust and blood rain.

The three transformed into sharp arrows, piercing through the gaps in the rain of demonic eyes, and plummeting straight into that dark, bottomless abyss.

The swarm of earthworms continued to roar and approach. The fragments of the Demon Eye slowly fell through the air, releasing embers that mingled with a putrid stench and an air of mystery.

But all those threats are being swallowed up by the deeper darkness beneath our feet.

They are falling—

Abyss leading to the "ancient heart".

—The magic was drawn up in a torrent, rushing in along unseen veins like a flood.

Even within the spirit tomb Albion, such magic is extraordinary.

It's not just the sheer size. Its texture—its essence—is also completely different from other regions.

Some say this is the closest thing to true ether in modern times.

Some people deny this claim, arguing that it is neither the true ether of the past nor the ether circulating in modern times, but rather a "third kind" of existence that has undergone a complete transformation.

No one can say for sure who is right and who is wrong.

But one thing is undeniable—

The name of this place is deeply imprinted in the subconscious of everyone connected with Albion, like a spell engraved on their magical markings.

An ancient heart.

A pale, faint light swirled slowly around it in a spiral.

The light was not dazzling, yet it was captivating.

This is a completely new structure formed after the disintegration of the Great Magic Circuit, and it is proof of some "deeper level".

In terms of structural size, it is far smaller than the previous magic circuit, which was constructed from more than a hundred layers.

However, when measured in terms of mysterious concentration, it exhibits a sense of oppression that is equal in quantity or even higher in order.

It's like compressing countless pieces of information into a single point, or condensing an entire temple into a single cell of the heart.

The scene is a lobby.

The surroundings were so quiet that it was as if time itself had been shut out.

The ceiling is high and the top is not visible, and ancient stone pillars interlock to support this area.

The air was filled with the "scent" of condensed magic—a sharp sensation somewhere between metal and thunderstorm.

Within this silent oppression, something is pulsating.

In the very center of the hall, something that should have stopped beating long ago now seems to still be alive.

That's the dragon's heart.

It was sealed within layers of incantations and barriers, yet it still exuded traces of life.

Its rhythm is extremely slow, yet it cannot be ignored.

Every slight pulsation caused an imperceptible tremor throughout the entire hall, as if asserting sovereignty.

The entire space doesn't seem to be part of the building, but rather part of its heart—

A cell, a piece of tissue, is temporarily used as a theater for human activities.

Perhaps, that heart has already died, leaving behind only a "rhythmic illusion" shaped by the history of magic and the afterglow of the divine era.

"...Alright, that completes my setup."

The man said in a low voice.

His voice revealed a profound weariness, not just physical exhaustion, but more like a stillness born from the exhaustion of his mind.

That's understandable—he had just completed a massive spell that would have drained most magicians dry.

However, the matter is far from over. The truly crucial stage is yet to come.