Magician in Type-Moon

Page 632

“Your proposal…” a voice, aged yet exceptionally clear, with a metallic, cold quality, rang out, “…very interesting.”

The owner of the voice was an elderly man with white hair, sitting upright on a large leather sofa.

His face was like a weathered ancient rock, deeply etched with wrinkles and etched with the marks of a lifespan far exceeding that of ordinary people. Yet the light that shone in his deep-set eyes was as sharp as that of a hawk, imbued with a wisdom that understood the ways of the world and an undeniable authority.

His posture was relaxed, yet he exuded an invisible sense of oppression, like a lion perched on a throne.

He elegantly sipped the deep red, blood-like liquid in his glass, which shimmered with an almost eerie, jewel-like luster in the fireplace light. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the nectar, and a precise, pale smile slowly curved his lips upward.

“But…” The old man put down his wine glass, the bottom of which made a soft but clear “click” as it touched the mahogany coffee table, like the sound of a gavel falling.

"...If these are the only conditions..." He shook his head slightly, the movement small, but carrying an undeniable sense of rejection.

"...that's not enough to make me move the ceremony here to you."

His gaze, like two cold probes, was precisely fixed on the middle-aged man sitting on the single sofa opposite him.

The man, though impeccably dressed, couldn't hide the weariness of his journey, and beneath his composed face lay a burning ambition. Under the old man's wise and insightful gaze, the calm he maintained seemed somewhat forced.

The old man looked at him, and the smile on his rock-like face deepened, even taking on a hint of...amusement.

He thought he was a very interesting guy.

What's interesting about it?

This man possessed an ambition that did not match his current abilities, resources, and status! That ambition surged like molten lava deep within his eyes, and although he tried his best to suppress it, it could not escape the old man's eyes that had seen through countless rises and falls.

"But it's this kind of person..." the old man added silently in his heart, as if appraising a rare, dangerous antique.

"...only ideas that are truly outstanding will stand out."

Their thinking is often unrestrained by conventions; they dare to break with common sense and take unconventional approaches.

"That's incredibly audacious!" They dare to covet power far beyond their control, dare to dance on the edge of the abyss, and dare to treat the entire world as a chessboard!

This brilliance and courage have their own unique value, and may even bring unexpected changes or opportunities. This is why the old man is willing to sit here and listen to this guy whose "ability does not match his ambition."

However, appreciation is one thing.

Business is business.

In particular, it involves the relocation of the "Ritual Grounds"—a place of irreplaceable strategic value that embodies ancient covenants, the power of the Dead Apostles, and may even be related to the core of the Dark Six's resurgence.

Simply being "fun" and "daring" is far from enough to pay this "rent".

The old man leaned back slightly, sinking back into the soft leather back of the sofa. He placed his hands on his lower abdomen, his all-knowing eyes calmly watching the middle-aged man opposite him, waiting for his response.

Is it a case of giving up in the face of difficulty?

Or... should we offer something more substantial, something that could sway his mind?

The firelight from the fireplace danced in the old man's deep eyes, like a silent scale weighing ambition and its consequences.

“Your Excellency Tefal Ottenrose,” Danic’s voice was steady, with just the right amount of respect, yet clearly reiterating his position, “Please do not be in a hurry.”

He leaned forward slightly, his posture conveying the sincerity characteristic of a negotiator.

"The things I just mentioned... resources, locations, and external support..." He waved his hand lightly, as if brushing away unimportant dust, "...were just to express the determination and capability of our Thousand World Tree clan in this matter."

He paused, then met the old man's deep eyes, which seemed to pierce his soul, with a frank gaze, carefully choosing his words:

“You can think of it as… well…” A subtle humility, yet with a hidden strength, played on his lips in a smile, “… a small gift to mark our meeting.”

The white-haired old man, respectfully addressed as Lord Tefum Ottenroche—an ancient figure among the Twenty-Seven Dead Apostles, renowned as the "White-Winged Lord"—

A sharp glint flickered in his hawk-like eyes, as if he were weighing the weight of the other person's words. He did not show displeasure at the other person's rejection; instead, the playful smile at the corner of his mouth deepened slightly.

"A gift?" White Wing Duke Tevanm Ottenroche repeated in a low voice, his aged tone like sandpaper rubbing against an ancient parchment scroll.

In his deep-set eyes, a sharp light flickered, as if he were assessing the true intentions behind this "gift" and the foundation of the Thousand World Tree clan.

He didn't immediately express his opinion, but the way he leaned back into the sofa and the unconscious, slow tapping of his fingertips on the leather armrests showed that he was giving the other person room to continue.

“Is that so, Danic…” The old man finally spoke again, his voice still steady, but carrying a scrutinizing sense of authority that comes with giving an opportunity to someone in a superior position, a sense that it cannot be wasted.

"...Then show your sincerity..."

He deliberately emphasized those two words, as if weighing the purity of gold, “...show it to us.”

This is both a requirement and a test.

Empty talk about determination is useless; he needs to see real, substantial leverage to move the ancient ritual site to be relocated!

"Understood." Danick's smile vanished instantly, replaced by an almost solemn seriousness.

Without the slightest hesitation, he stood up abruptly. His movements were swift and decisive, displaying a soldier's resolve that starkly contrasted with his previous businessman's composure.

Instead of heading towards the heavy, carved wooden door to the study, he went straight to the large floor-to-ceiling window on one side of the room, which was completely covered by heavy velvet curtains.

The firelight from the fireplace stretched his shadow long, casting it onto the floor covered with a magnificent Persian carpet, where it moved silently with his steps.

Outside the castle, the faint howling of wind and rain could be heard, but the heavy curtains shut out everything, leaving only a heavy silence inside and the soft crackling of the wood burning in the fireplace.

Danic stood before the floor-to-ceiling window. He took a deep breath, as if gathering some kind of power, or perhaps preparing a display powerful enough to awe the ancient beings.

He didn't turn around, but simply raised his hand and firmly grasped the heavy edge of the velvet curtain.

“Then please…” Danic’s voice broke through the silence, carrying a solemnity like the unveiling of a curtain, “…come with me.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he exerted force with his arm—

Wow——!

The heavy velvet curtains were suddenly pulled open to both sides!

The cold, damp night wind rushed into the warm room, causing the fireplace flames to flicker wildly, and the light and shadow to dance violently in the study.

Outside the window, there was neither the castle courtyard nor the distant mountain silhouette I had imagined.

But...

An indoor ceremonial venue filled with wooden stakes!

That's right, it's indoors!

Beyond the curtains lies not the castle's outer walls, but another, more secluded and enormous hall inside the castle!

This hall seems to have been deliberately stripped of all unnecessary decorations, leaving only cold, heavy stone walls and a towering dome.

In the center of this open space, hundreds of rough, uncarved wooden stakes are densely packed together in a way that seems chaotic yet contains a certain ancient rhythm.

Most of these wooden stakes are charred black, as if they have been burned in a raging fire. Their surfaces are covered with barely recognizable, dark brown stains, and they exude an unsettling, sacrilegious odor that is a mixture of old blood, charred wood, and soil.

They stand like withered giant fingers reaching out from hell, standing in this deliberately created interior space filled with a sense of primitive savagery and bloody sacrifice.

This sudden and completely unexpected scene instantly made the already heavy atmosphere in the room... eerie and subtle.

Unlike most people, Whitewing Duke Tevanm Ottenrose did not react with astonishment or immediately look at the unsettling ritual site.

He didn't even move a step. He simply remained seated on the large leather sofa, relaxed, as if he had anticipated the view outside the window, or... simply didn't care.

His aged yet sharp gaze didn't even immediately fall upon the area filled with charred wooden stakes.

Instead, he slowly turned his neck, and his hawk-like eyes, which seemed to pierce through the soul, calmly landed on Danic, who was still standing by the window with his arm still in the position of pulling back the curtains.

"A very good sleight of hand."

Bai Yigong's voice was deep and steady, without the slightest hint of anger at being teased, but rather with a touch of... playful appreciation?

"That's quite a clever projection magic trick, isn't it?"

He paused slightly, a penetrating glint in his deep-set eyes, then abruptly changed the subject, his tone carrying an undeniable air of inquiry:

"...But..." His voice held a hint of genuine confusion, a confusion more oppressive than anger, "...why do this on purpose? Was it to toy with that guy?"

"........."

Danick's expression, the mask of composure and shrewdness he had maintained since the beginning of the negotiations, finally softened under the old man's pointed, understated yet weighty question.

A barely concealed, awkward, embarrassed, and slightly embarrassed smile, mixed with the feeling that his thoughts had been seen through, stiffly crept onto the corners of his mouth.

He subconsciously avoided Bai Yigong's gaze, which seemed to pierce his soul, and his fingers gripping the edge of the heavy curtains tightened unconsciously.

some things……

Some things are not so easy to say aloud.

"No, it's just that, as you know, each Heroic Spirit, as a projection of the Boundary Recording Belt, has their own pride, or rather... stubbornness... If he becomes aware of you, something might happen."

"Is that guy a king?" Whitewing Duke finally stood up, seemingly very satisfied with Danic's frankness.

He looked out the window at the figure sitting on the throne above the ceremonial hall and smiled.

“That’s right, he is Vlad III, the former Prince of Wallachia.” Danic nodded.

"So what's the connection between this guy and your proposal? Or are you just showing us your strength?"

White Wing turned its head to look at Danic.

"No, he is arguably the most crucial element of our cooperation. You should know Vlad III's more famous nickname, right?"

Bai Yigong's deep-set eyes suddenly narrowed.

A cold, amused smile spread across his rock-like face.

“Dracula…” he uttered the name slowly, as if savoring a brilliant irony, “…a fictional progenitor of vampires created by humans.”

He clearly pointed out the essence!

Vlad III, as a Heroic Spirit, is based on his real achievements and illustrious reputation in human history.

However, the terrifying nickname "Dracula" and the legend of vampires were fabricated by later generations based on historical fragments, fearful imaginations, and literary embellishments!

This "legend" clung to Vlad III's Throne of Heroes like a maggot, forcibly endowing him with symbolic vampire traits and dark powers that he should not have possessed!

“Exactly!” Danic’s voice rose slightly with excitement, his eyes gleaming with an almost fanatical ambition. “Your Excellency is wise! So… if—”

He took a step forward, as if revealing a startling blueprint, pointing his finger at the dark red figure seated on the throne:

"—We will use this heroic spirit with powerful 'vampire factor' as our 'seedbed'!"

His voice was like the whisper of a devil, full of temptation and madness:

"Use it as a vessel to conceive, awaken, and even bear... the Dark Six's authority!"

His gaze was fixed intently on Bai Yigong:

"What do you think... will ultimately happen?!"