Magician in Type-Moon

Page 662

This island nation has a somewhat 'special situation' and traditionally has very strong 'geysers'. The 'Clock Tower' has indeed set up 'many' workshops underground to utilize this power.

But the 'Izeruma' family was an exception. They chose the rooftop, chose to gaze at the stars, and resonate with the sun and moon.

The workshop was not as neat and orderly as one might imagine, but rather filled with a “large number” of books, test tubes, distillers, and those iconic “philosopher’s eggs”—egg-shaped “flasks”—used for conducting great alchemical experiments.

The air was filled with a mixture of old paper, chemical reagents, metal oxidation, and a unique, indescribable scent that belonged to a highly concentrated magic.

What is consistent with the style of its 'Creative Science' faction is that among these rigorous and even cold experimental instruments, there are also many 'beautiful paintings' and 'sculptures'.

They are not merely decorations; their composition, proportions, and colors contain subtle magical meanings, and are themselves a study and presentation of "beauty."

Judging from the easel with a blank canvas stretched out in the corner of the room and the faint smell of turpentine in the air, the workshop's owner—

Perhaps, during moments of reflection, Bai Longqing would also personally paint, putting his inspiration into words.

At this moment, a uniquely scented, slightly sweet smok is 'drifting' in that crowded yet intellectually stimulating space.

The source is an exquisite meerschaum pipe.

Although he "almost never smokes" in front of others, maintaining the strict image of the head of the family.

But when he is alone, the moment of tranquility when he puts carefully cut tobacco into his meerschaum pipe and lets the fragrant smoke rise is very precious to him. It is one of the few rituals that allows him to relax his tense nerves.

However, today, even that familiar, comforting scent could not soothe his heart.

A sense of unease and an indescribable...fear clung to his heart like vines.

—"What you are doing is inducing planetary motion within the human body."

Matou Ike's cold and precise words echoed in Byron's mind once again, like a ghost.

"Just how close was that man to the truth?" He clenched his cigarette butt tightly, his mind churning.

“Indeed, in order to gain the approval and resources of those around me, I didn’t really try to hide the basic principles and grand vision of the Golden Princess and Silver Princess spells…”

He recalled the pride he felt when the princesses were displayed at the banquet.

"...However, this is indeed the first time that someone has been able to 'go straight to the heart' so quickly, after only 'just meeting' and without even delving into the core of the workshop!"

“Of course,” he tried to reassure himself, trying to regain his sense of superiority.

"What he 'said' there was only the most basic framework. Now I have no reason to be stingy with this as an 'idea' for 'inspiration'."

Even if someone uses this as an opportunity to gain a 'deep understanding' of some superficial aspects, it's 'impossible' to truly 'reach' the 'domain' that 'we' and others have painstakingly built over a dozen generations.

He firmly believes in the depth and barriers of his own technology.

However──

However, there was something about the man that made him hesitate. It wasn't just keen observation, but a kind of... cold "gaze" that seemed to see through all the fog and reach the essence of all things.

If we just ignore it... how far will the man get?

What alarmed him even more was:

Furthermore, what if his 'analysis' were to be fully 'heard and understood' by 'Lord Baruyeleta'—Lord Inole—a 'potentially genius'—...

Considering that monarch's terrifying power and the foundation of the Creation Department... to what extent would she 'reproduce' or even 'improve' it?!

The ruler of one's own clan is both a powerful ally and a sword hanging over one's head.

The concept is one thing, but if the core technology is completely seen through and surpassed, what is the value of the Izeruma split?

“…Ugh…Damn it.”

Byron clenched his teeth and bit down hard on the mouthpiece of the meerschaum pipe, almost biting it through. Anxiety, anger, and a hint of fear of the unknown finally coalesced into a suppressed growl.

"...almost there."

Bai Longqing roared silently in his heart, the smoke from his pipe distorting his gloomy face.

Following the previous writing style, optimize and enrich the original text without adding any additional settings.

He tried to bolster his wavering faith by recalling past glories:

Even Lord Baruyeleta—Lord Inole—wasn't he full of praise for the results shown at the Golden Princess's "first appearance banquet"?

Even a discerning monarch like her gave it her approval! And...

He even thought about things further ahead. Even Setra, the former captain of the Imperial Magic Guild who suddenly appeared and whose identity was sensitive, could not ignore the achievements he had made!

It is precisely because he so desperately craves this recognition and yearns to reach the finish line that he has struggled so arduously until now! He has exhausted every conceivable means and paid an unimaginable price...

Countless forbidden experiments, wasteful use of resources, and even shady deals flashed through his mind... He was even willing to bow down to that damned remnant of the Sorcerer Guild!

Everything was for the sake of 'trying to take' those 'last' steps!

“Even so, I gave everything… but ‘everyone’…” He felt as if the whole world was against him—his daughter’s death, the maid’s murder, Matou Ike’s spying, the pressure from the main family… resentment and unwillingness spread like poison.

When he once again gritted his teeth in resentment and bit down hard on the mouthpiece of his meerschaum pipe—

"—Bai Longqing."

A voice clearly 'called' his 'name'.

"Oh, you've arrived."

Byron turned around, his meerschaum pipe clenched between his teeth, his gaze passing through the rising, sweet smoke to the three people at the workshop entrance.

The pipe vibrated slightly between his teeth, revealing the unease he was trying to conceal.

Islo Sebner, the magician with the braided hair;

Maio Brishisan Kleiners;

And the maid Regina, who stood silently to the side.

Their figures stood out starkly against the backdrop of the workshop filled with books and instruments.

"As long as the Silver Princess Estella is there, losing the Golden Princess is not an absolute failure."

Byron's voice came from behind the smoke, with a deliberately maintained calm. He seemed to be convincing them, but more likely, he was convincing himself.

The Golden Princess and Silver Princess, created by the bloodline of Izeluma, were inherently meant to be 'backup' versions of each other.

He emphasized the word "spare parts," as if that could alleviate the pain of losing the Golden Princess.

But in reality, this statement seems so pale in the workshop filled with philosophical eggs and alchemical instruments. Those unfinished paintings, the faint outlines on blank canvases, all silently tell of an unfinished dream.

Byron's gaze finally settled on a magician with braided hair, a pipe twirling slightly in his hand. "However," his voice suddenly sharpened, "what about your tuxedo?"

Islo Sebnay's Adam's apple visibly bobbed.

In a workshop filled with sophisticated instruments and philosophical insights, the question seemed both abrupt and fatal.

His fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of his dress, which now looked rather disheveled, a dress that had once been perfect.

"...My dress is perfect..."

His voice was so soft it was almost drowned out by the boiling sound of the still, but every word carried a stubborn insistence, as if defending the last shred of dignity.

Those slender fingers gracefully entwined the fine needle and thread, their movements as fluid as a spider weaving a web of fate.

In ancient Western legends, weaving witches and goddesses controlled the warp and weft of life—

Sleeping Beauty slept forever due to the curse of the spindle; in Greek mythology, the Moiraes spun, measured, and ultimately cut the lifeline of each person.

What he was performing was a magic ritual of the same nature.

Byron's gaze passed over Islo, and the smoke rising from his pipe formed a thin veil between the two.

His gaze eventually landed on another magician, a look so sharp it could pierce the hardest philosophical egg.

What's the deal with your medicine?

Meo jolted violently as if pricked by a needle, accidentally biting his tongue. A metallic, bloody taste filled his mouth, and he hurriedly covered his mouth, tears welling in his eyes from the intense pain.

When he spoke again, his voice trembled noticeably, yet he stubbornly maintained his dignity:

"I...I...it hurts so much...and my medicine is...perfect. Like Miss Tiadera, please let me assist Miss Estella in becoming a worthy Silver Princess."

In this rooftop workshop filled with the smell of alchemical tools and turpentine, these two people—

One weaves the gown of destiny, the other concocts mysterious potions—they are indeed indispensable to the Golden Princess and the Silver Princess.

Their skills, as precise as the movement of the sun and moon, together maintained this perfect dream on the verge of collapse.

Hospitalized, preparing for surgery, will update as needed.

There's a problem with my lungs; I'm preparing for surgery.

Chapter 687 Sprouts in the Dark (4k)

That is why, despite having the blood of other factions flowing through their veins, Byron frequently summoned them to this rooftop workshop that resonated with the sun and moon.

Their lineage—Sabner and Kleinels—has long transcended the narrow barriers of factionalism, their ancestors having wholeheartedly endorsed and supported the grand ambitions of the Izeruma family for generations:

"To create humankind with supreme beauty."

This ancient mandate is more unbreakable than any magical contract.

"Even without Karina, the overall 'complete' setup should be fine, right?"

Byron’s voice came from behind his pipe, but his gaze was sharp as he turned to the maid.

Regina lowered her head even further, almost blending into the interplay of light and shadow in the workshop.

"...That's what I think."

Her voice was soft yet clear, carrying an undeniable certainty in the environment filled with the smells of reagents and old books.

A silence fell.

This silence, heavy and viscous, mixed with the smell of mildew, lingering smoke, and an indescribable sense of loss, permeated the apparatus filled with philosophical eggs and distillers.

"very good."

Finally, Byron slammed his cane heavily on the workshop floor, the sound like a muffled timpani, echoing in the cramped space, vibrating every test tube and every inch of air.

"I don't know what kind of seductive 'conclusion' that guy named Matou will weave, but it has nothing to do with our pure path of pursuing 'supreme beauty'."

His voice suddenly rose, carrying an almost obsessive fervor.

"We must eliminate all distractions and pursue that ultimate 'beauty' with solemnity and devotion!"