Magician in Type-Moon

Page 636

She lightly touched the document that Matou Ike had placed on her lap with the finger holding the cigarette, and the cigarette ash fell in a flurry with the movement.

"His identity and background are clearly written up there..."

She took a drag of her cigarette and slowly exhaled, the smoke blurring her expression. "...The Far Eastern religion known as 'Shugendo'."

"..." Matou Ike fell silent. It wasn't that he was persuaded, but rather a complete, almost wordless surrender.

How could a local, niche religion possibly have any connection with a church?

This thought, like a cold, iron law, instantly crushed the reasons given by Aozaki Touko.

Shugendo? That's just an Eastern esoteric sect that practices asceticism in the deep mountains and seeks mountain spirits. It has an irreconcilable and fundamental conflict with the Holy Church, which believes in a single God and regards all heresies as targets to be eliminated!

There is absolutely no basis for "peaceful coexistence" or "cooperation" between the two!

There is only one answer.

Aozaki Touko... she herself didn't know for sure why Jirobo Seigen had appeared in the Church's territory.

The source of the information that "it should be over at the Holy Church" may be unclear, or the subsequent tracking leads may have been broken.

Her earlier explanation regarding "Shugendo" was nothing more than a hasty, impromptu fabrication to cover up a lack of information or uncertainty, a lie that even she herself couldn't justify!

Matou Ike didn't even bother to expose her clumsy cover-up. He had already scanned the document she had mentioned; the records about "Shugendo" were at most background descriptions, and there wasn't a single word mentioning any connection with the Holy Church!

This lie was as fleeting and powerless as the smoke rising from her fingers.

A subtle, slightly awkward silence fell over the living room once again.

The only sounds were the faint hissing of the burning cigarette and the deliberate exhalation of smoke by Aozaki Touko.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the outline of the ruins of London outside the window, as if trying to conceal the slight unease that had been silently exposed.

.........

"Hey, Kiyohiro."

The sound was not loud, but like a pebble thrown into calm water, it clearly rippled across this London street filled with the smell of foreign war and dampness.

The figure that was called stopped in its tracks. It was a young man, about twenty-five years old, dressed in a way that clashed with the dilapidated surroundings, with a dark eye patch covering his right eye.

But the strangeness was far from the blindfold—he had a small, black, polygonal box tied to his head, wore a pure white hemp robe, had a huge conch shell hanging around his neck, and carried an old wooden box that resembled a backpack on his back.

"What's wrong, Shirou?" Seigen turned his head, a frivolous smile on his face, and looked at the source of the voice.

“I remember,” Shirou’s voice was steady as his gaze swept over the peculiar little box on Seigen’s head, “…the box on your head, it’s called a Tokin, isn’t it?”

He paused, as if recalling some distant detail, “Similar to… the tefillin worn by Jews?”

"Oh~" Qingxuan let out an exaggerated, drawn-out sound of admiration. He clapped his hands, and the frivolous smile on his face widened a few more times.

"Mr. Shirou is truly learned! Putting aside the magic system on the mainland, just this alone..."

He pointed to his collar, “...even in Japan, it’s considered a rather niche custom.”

An admiring whistle escaped his lips, tinged with a hint of cynicism.

However, this "admiration" did not linger in his eyes for long. His remaining left eye, like that of a hawk, remained fixed on the nun behind Shirou, whose face was only partially visible.

"How is it?" Qingxuan suddenly bent down, rubbed his hands together habitually, and put on an almost fawning smile.

“Over there…” He casually pointed to the ruins of a half-collapsed coffee shop on the street corner, “…how about having a cup of tea? To warm up.”

He adopted a very humble posture, like a solicitous shopkeeper.

However, the girl in the nun's habit reacted much more intensely—she almost instantly pressed her entire body tightly against Shirou's broad back.

This appearance truly resembles that of a frightened French antique doll seeking its only refuge.

Shirou's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, forming a faint yet sharp line.

“Regardless of the form,” Shirou’s voice remained steady, “...Yamabushi (aren’t they ascetic monks who serve the gods?)”

His gaze, like a scrutinizing probe, fell upon Qingxuan's incongruous robes.

"And I remember... that the precepts of Shugendo in Japan seem to regard women as unclean?"

Upon hearing this, Qingxuan showed no embarrassment at being exposed; instead, he burst into an even louder, somewhat manic laugh:

"Hahaha!"

The laughter echoed through the empty, ruined streets, sounding particularly jarring.

“Faith and personal interests are two different things, sir!” He straightened up, his remaining left eye flashing with a cunning and dangerous light, his gaze still fixed on the girl.

"Besides..." he licked his dry lips, "...let's leave aside when we were cultivating in the mountains, but we're in a foreign country now! There's no need...to ban bars in a place like this?"

"So..." Qingxuan leaned forward slightly, "...you two, get a little closer to me...hey, is that alright?"

brush!

The moment the words left his mouth, the air seemed to be torn apart!

A cold, silver light—not a physical sword, but a sharp steel blade instantly condensed, compressed, and materialized from magical energy—

Without warning, it shot out from Shirou's side! Its target was Seigen's left eye, which was gleaming with greed!

It was so fast that it left only a blurry afterimage and a piercing whistling sound!

"Huh?!" Qingxuan's pupils suddenly contracted! The flippant look on his face was instantly replaced by extreme vigilance.

His body sprang backward like a startled wildcat, the movement so fast it left afterimages! At the same time, his right hand, which had been hanging at his side, flashed behind him—

call out--

A small, dark object, shaped like an ancient bronze bowl, shot out from his hand with a strange whooshing sound!

The object did not follow any physical laws or a straight trajectory. Instead, the instant it left my hand, it seemed to be a living thing controlled by an invisible hand, drawing a strange, complex, and completely inertial arc in the air, like a venomous snake coiling!

It cleverly bypassed the steel blade coming straight at it, and from an incredible angle that was practically Shirou's blind spot, with a terrifying force capable of shattering rocks and knocking down beasts, it silently and fatally attacked Shirou's vital back!

Bang!

A dull yet extremely penetrating metallic clang rang out!

The silver steel blade that was originally aimed at Qingxuan also suddenly changed direction in mid-air with an equally unbelievable and physics-defying complex trajectory!

With the precision of a life of its own, it defended back at the critical moment, intercepting the strange flying bowl that was heading straight for Shirou's back!

The steel blade, imbued with magical energy, collided violently with the dark metal bowl, creating an invisible shockwave that dispersed the dust on the ground!

Chapter 662 Demon Hunting (4k)

“…Just now,” Shirou slowly withdrew his clenched hand, as if he had not been the one who had manipulated the magical blade and intercepted the fatal blow.

He gazed calmly at Qingxuan, his voice devoid of any emotion, conveying only pure observation and confirmation, "...Is it the Flying Bowl Technique of Shugendo?"

Qingxuan looked at the bronze bowl that had been intercepted and rolled to the ground, but instead of being annoyed, he grinned again, revealing a set of white teeth, as if the deadly sneak attack had just been a game:

"Haha, just as you predicted!" He clapped his hands, his tone tinged with pride. "I heard that the founding master—that uncle named Tai Cheng—was most skilled at this move. His reputation in Japan is second only to that of Master Ennozuno!"

A flicker of nostalgia and fervor for power flashed in Qingxuan's eyes. "Legend has it that when he was begging for alms, he only needed to perform this trick to elicit cheers from the crowd and receive a bounty of donations!"

"Hmm..." Shirou nodded slightly, his praise sounding less enthusiastic and more like a statement of an objective fact.

"...This has truly broadened my horizons." After a brief pause, his tone abruptly changed, like a sword returning to its sheath, instantly sheathing all its sharpness, leaving only a pure, unquestionable business-like tone:

“Well then, Mr. Qingxuan…” His gaze calmly fell on the other person’s face, “…Let’s talk about the follow-up work.”

"Are we going to be in work mode so soon?" Qingxuan exaggeratedly drew out his words, complaining like a child who had their candy taken away.

He even spread his hands out to cooperate, making a helpless and aggrieved gesture, his strange robes swaying with the movement.

"The vacation time is definitely not enough! I still want to fully experience the local customs and culture of this foreign land!"

As he finished speaking, his gaze, like a honey-slicked fly, drifted obsessively towards the nun behind Shirou, whose face was only partially visible. The implication was clear.

Shirou ignored his complaints. His expression remained as unwavering as a rock covered in frost.

His voice was steady, with an unquestionable, businesslike coldness, cutting straight to the heart of the matter: "Let's confirm the mission objective first."

This is not a question, but an imperative statement.

"Wrong! Wrong! Utterly wrong!" Qingxuan's voice suddenly rose, like a gong or cymbal suddenly struck on a stage, carrying a deliberate, jarring theatricality that abruptly interrupted Shirou's words.

He waved his arms wildly, his headband bobbing, and his expression instantly shifted from complaint to a near-fanatical excitement as if he had discovered a huge fallacy.

He leaned forward, his only remaining left eye wide open, staring intently at Shirou as if the other had committed an unforgivable, elementary mistake.

He exuded a strong, almost morbid, air of "attention-seeking."

It's a clown-like instinct to crave the spotlight and be the center of attention, a deep-seated need to attract others' gaze by resorting to any abrupt, exaggerated, or even offensive behavior.

And at this moment, he achieved his goal.

That abrupt interruption and exaggerated denial were like a boulder thrown into a calm lake.

Qingxuan successfully drew both of their attention to himself.

On the ruined streets, the tense confrontation that had just taken place was forcibly distorted into an absurd focus by his outrageous performance.

"Is there a problem?" Shirou's voice rang out, deep and steady, like a stone thrown into a deep well, without making the slightest ripple.

But those slightly narrowed eyes and the subtly tense aura around him, like a cheetah poised to pounce, clearly conveyed his displeasure at being interrupted and his cold scrutiny.

Bathed in this cold gaze, Qingxuan not only did not restrain himself, but seemed to be injected with excitement.

He suddenly straightened his back, and his only remaining left eye shone with an almost sacred light, burning with an absurd sense of mission!

He patted his pure white robes forcefully, as if brushing away some unseen dust, and his voice suddenly rose, carrying the impassioned tone of someone proclaiming a momentous truth:

“Naturally, it’s the name of our group!” He opened his arms as if to embrace an invisible, grand vision. “Shouldn’t such a crucial, foundational, and soul-unifying matter be resolved promptly and solemnly before anything else even begins?!”

silence.

This sudden declaration about the "group name" is far more absurd than the previous sneak attack with flying bowls; it's like a circus tent suddenly being erected in the middle of a desolate battlefield.

A deathly silence enveloped the ruined streets. Only the faint sound of the wind in the distance, like the sigh of a ghost.

Shirou's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. His sharp eyes, for a rare moment, froze, as if a high-speed precision instrument had encountered undecipherable gibberish. He slowly, extremely slowly, turned his head to the side.

His gaze briefly met that of the nun in her habit who clung to him like a frightened young animal.

The girl's eyes, which were as clear as delicate glass beads but lacked vitality, now showed a rare change, losing some of their blankness and widening slightly.

Clearly reflected within it was... a trace of confusion? A trace of bewilderment? Even... a trace of speechless disbelief at the utterly illogical nature of this strange person before him?