No wonder even Bazett required backup.
Executors,the Holy Church's specialized executioners. They were combatants trained specifically to hunt vampires, magical beasts, and heretical Magi. In terms of role and lethality, they were the Church's equivalent to the Mage's Association's Enforcers. Even Kirei Kotomine had once been a member of their ranks.
Wayland followed Pascal to a door marked '201.'
"Keep it down," Pascal whispered as he gently pushed the door open.
The first thing Wayland saw was a young girl lying in the center of the large bed, her form nearly swallowed by the white duvet. Her golden hair shimmered beautifully in the sunlight streaming through the window, but the sight was marred by the thick bandages wrapped around her left cheek, stained with dark, clotted blood.
Bazett stood near the head of the bed, her back pressed against the wall.
She wore a maroon suit that matched her short, magenta hair and eyes. Her expression was, as always, a mask of cold, professional detachment.
Beneath her left eye was a small beauty mark, and her earlobes were adorned with simple, elegant studs.
When she saw Pascal, she gave a microscopic nod.
"This is Wayland. He's a member of the Department of Policies' first unit."
Pascal made the introduction, then looked toward the bed. "How is Eliza?"
"The physical wounds are manageable," Bazett replied, her voice low and even. "The problem is the curse lingering in the wound."
"We've been in this hotel for an hour. Given the Holy Church's efficiency, it won't be long before they're knocking on the door. We might need to move her soon."
Bazett's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly as she Adjusted the cuffs of her suit. "We can't afford to be this passive. Your team arrived in Oxenholme in total secrecy last night. I doubt they've realized your presence yet. We should seize the initiative."
Pascal remained silent for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. "We need to wait another thirty minutes."
"Why?"
"Because there's another faction in Oxenholme. Less than half an hour ago, one of their Magi carried out a blatant, unrestricted attack at the train station. I suspect their motives might interfere with our mission, and I want to know who we're dealing with."
"What's your plan?"
"Investigate them. They've already violated the first principle of Magi. That makes them our jurisdiction."
Bazett glanced at the sleeping Eliza. "Fine. But we move her in thirty minutes, regardless."
Pascal nodded. "Wayland, with me."
Wayland blinked, surprised. "Right."
He followed Pascal out of the room and back to the elevator. Instead of the lobby, they headed to the very top: the rooftop.
"What are we doing up here?" Wayland asked as they stepped out into the cool air.
"Investigating."
Pascal's two-word answer did little to clarify things for Wayland.
'Investigating what? The weather?'
Wayland stood a meter behind Pascal, watching as he began a series of complex gestures.
A magical circle formed in the air, shimmering with a faint, translucent light.
Pascal reached out his right hand and touched a specific point on the circle, as though he were opening a hidden door. His entire arm vanished into the magical construct.
After a few moments of rummaging, he pulled out a white pigeon.
"Coo, coo."
The pigeon beat its wings and flew up to perch on Pascal's head. After circling twice, it dropped a rolled-up newspaper into his waiting hand.
"The Magician's Daily. Published by the Archelot family," Pascal said, waving the newspaper.
"Unlike many of the other Lords, Lord Archelot of the Botany Department places a high value on media and modern technology. They hold massive influence over both traditional media,like newspapers and television,and the newer digital platforms on the internet. They've even got their fingers in the military-industrial complex. The anti-aircraft machine guns on our Department of Policies cruiser? Those were partially developed with Archelot technology.
"This newspaper is specifically tailored for the magical community. It's updated with incredible speed. As long as you can afford the price, you can find out almost anything you want to know. Even events that happened only minutes ago. Look, here's the headline."
Wayland took the newspaper and unrolled it.
SHOCKING! MYSTERIOUS ORGANIZATION APPEARS AT OXENHOLME STATION! BLATANT ATTACK INTERCEPTED BY DEPARTMENT OF POLICIES AGENTS! A BATTLE TO SHAKE THE HEAVENS!
Wayland stared at the text.
'This feels familiar.'
'I didn't realize Magi were so fond of clickbait.'
He scanned the article, but to his frustration, it contained almost no actual information about the "mysterious organization." The entire page was filled with a dramatic, blow-by-blow description of the combat.
'Are you writing a news report or a light novel?'
"Feeling like there's not much actual intelligence in there?"
Pascal shrugged. "That's the style of The Magician's Daily. All this fluff is just a teaser to get you to buy the 'Internal Edition.' Flip to the fourth section, the very last page."
Wayland turned the page and found a small, inconspicuous box in the bottom right corner.
September 28th - Magician's Internal Edition: 100,000 Pounds.
"I have a question..." Wayland looked up at Pascal, his expression deadly serious. "Does the Department of Policies reimburse expenses like this?"
"Of course we do."
Pascal shook his head at Wayland's visible concern over the money. "Wayland, my friend, wealth is a transitory thing. A magus should be focused on the pursuit of the Root."
"No. Without money, you'll never reach the Root," Wayland said with a heavy sigh. "No matter which path you take, it always seems to require a massive amount of capital."
Unless, of course, you were born with a direct connection to it.
The Holy Grail War required land, leylines, and catalysts. Even the research of Kiritsugu's father, Noritaka Emiya,a man widely considered a genius,had required incredible resources. He had spent his life attempting to accelerate time within a tiny, isolated boundary bubble, aiming to reach the Root by observing the end of the universe.
Whether it was the Golden Princess, the Silver Princess, or any other path to the Root, they all shared one common requirement: a mountain of money.
***
The white pigeon perched on the edge of the rooftop, meticulously preening its feathers with its beak.
Pascal walked over and knelt down until he was at eye-level with the bird's coal-black eyes.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]