"That damned high school brat! I'm going to tear him apart and eat him alive!"
Jax Eaton's roar echoed through the basement, his voice dripping with animalistic fury.
***
"A high schooler?"
The old man paused, his expression unreadable. "You were ordered to hunt down Ariel Dumas. How did you manage to get yourself tangled up with a teenager? To heal you, I had to mend not only your shattered limbs but also the complete depletion of your magical reserves and the spatial erosion eating at your flesh. It seems you were forced to use the 'Wheel of Fortune' for a blind jump. If you hadn't, the pain of the Holy Bell's restoration wouldn't have been so agonizing."
Jax shuddered at the memory. "Your Eminence... next time, could you perhaps use an anesthetic before you start the treatment?"
As he spoke, he crawled out of the crater in the floor. The old man clearly hadn't held back; the side of Jax's body that had been slammed into the stone was matted with thick, dark blood.
However, the skin beneath the blood was smooth and whole. The wounds had been completely erased.
Feeling the strength returning to his limbs, Jax shook his head. Without waiting for the old man to respond, he began a long, guttural incantation. A cloud of red mist enveloped him, and within seconds, he had reverted to his human form.
"If I didn't keep your mind awake, your 'Wolfification' would have become permanent," the old man said coldly. "Do you really think the Holy Bell is a toy? I've had almost every one of my internal organs replaced with artificial components just to survive its power. Even so, every time I activate it, I'm subjected to its 'assimilation.' I have to have my parts replaced on a regular basis just to remain human."
"But it hurts, damn it! It's worse than the spatial tearing from the Wheel of Fortune."
"You possess a Wolf-body specifically engineered by our organization to resist spatial erosion; of course you wouldn't feel much during a jump. But even that body has its limits. Once you suffer irreversible conceptual damage, not even the Holy Bell can save you. You, of all people, understand how precious those bodies are. Now, tell me,what kind of 'high schooler' could possibly force you to use your trump card?"
"I don't know who he is," Jax said, his eyes burning with resentment. "I tracked Ariel all the way to Oxenholme. He stayed here much longer than he usually does, which led me to suspect he was preparing some kind of high-level ritual. I managed to corner him at the train station.
"As you know, Ariel's Mystic Code isn't a combat-oriented Conceptual Weapon; it's a support tool with incredible scouting capabilities. To avoid alerting him, I set up a simple barrier outside the station and moved in for a quick strike."
"And you didn't realize there were other Magi inside?" The old man let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Jax, your arrogance has always been your greatest weakness. It was your own recklessness that led to this."
"I wasn't being reckless!" Jax protested, feeling the sting of the accusation. "I checked the station's schedule before I moved. I confirmed that no trains were scheduled to arrive at that time. Given the low foot traffic, I even accessed the station's security feeds. I vetted everyone in the building,they were all ordinary humans. That high schooler... he appeared as if he'd materialized out of thin air."
"Spatial magic?" the old man asked.
"Impossible. I would have sensed a spatial disturbance that large. Unless his rank was two levels higher than mine, there's no way he could have hidden it. But the kid... he felt like a mere 'Count' rank."
"A 'Count'?" The old man's tone shifted instantly. His expression became bone-chillingly cold, his killing intent sharp enough to cut the air. "You useless cur! You were brought low by a magus of the 'Count' rank?"
"Wait! Hear me out before you punish me!" Jax shouted, sensing the old man's magic beginning to flare. He suppressed his fear and forced himself to continue. "There's something wrong with that kid. His appearance at the station was completely unnatural. He uses Rune magic, which is rare enough among modern Magi, but he also uses a spearmanship style,an incredibly ancient style that hasn't been seen in centuries. It's almost identical to the style recorded in our organization's archives,the style of Gareth, the seventh knight of the Round Table. Precise techniques, a relentless, storm-like offense, and a lethal decisiveness in every strike."
"Are you telling me stories, Jax?" The old man clearly didn't believe him.
"My lies would be laid bare before you, Your Eminence."
The old man's eyes flickered. His Mystic Code, the Holy Bell, remained silent. Jax was telling the truth.
"Even so, he is but a 'Count.' You possess the Major Arcana cards; a common 'Fes' rank should be no match for you."
"Yes, if I'd had the time, I would have killed him. But a 'Fes' rank assistant arrived almost immediately,an illusionist. I was worried that if the fight dragged on, Ariel would seize the opportunity to join the fray. I couldn't risk fighting both of them at once, so I chose to retreat. But the teenager... his reaction speed was incredible. He managed to interrupt my concealment spell and wound me before I could vanish. I was forced to use the Wheel of Fortune for a random teleportation."
"Disregard the boy for now," the old man said, his pupils glowing with a cold, predatory light. "Once we have the Stone of Destiny, we'll have plenty of time to deal with him. Your primary task now is to find Ariel. If he truly is preparing a ritual, he likely hasn't left Oxenholme yet. He might have found a way to hide the Stone, but hiding himself won't be as easy."
***
Wayland and Pascal returned to their hotel room. Only fifteen minutes had passed since Pascal's timer had begun.
"It's confirmed. The person who attacked the station was a member of the Seven Holy Paladins," Pascal said.
"The Seven Holy Paladins? They're usually smart enough not to pick a fight with the Mage's Association in broad daylight." Bazett's eyes narrowed as she considered the information. After a moment, she changed the subject. "I've chosen a location. The Zapata Abandoned Gas Station. it's far from the city center and sits directly on the primary route back to London."
"Are we really going to move against them?" Pascal's heart tightened. While the Association and the Church had clashed countless times in the shadows, he was dealing with Church Executors. He didn't want any of his teammates ending up in a body bag.
"There's no other choice," Bazett said, shaking her head. "You don't understand the mindset of those people. They're fanatics, absolute lunatics. And once they've set their sights on a rogue Enforcer, they won't let go until one of us is dead. We have to decide, right now, who is the hunter and who is the prey."
"Pascal, call the Captain," Wayland said, siding with Bazett. "We need to move."
"Fine." Pascal let out a resigned breath. "Eliza is still unconscious. Since we're heading to the Zapata station, we'll take the car."
He helped Bazett settle the sleeping girl onto her back, and the three of them made their way to the hotel entrance.
Pascal made a quick phone call, and a minute later, a nine-meter-long luxury limousine pulled up to the curb.
"Can you drive?" Pascal asked Wayland.
"Without a license? Sure," Wayland said with a faint smile. "If you don't mind a little 'high-speed risk,' I can handle it."
"Never mind. I'd rather not get wiped out before we even meet the Executors." Pascal climbed into the driver's seat and inserted the key. "Get in."
"What about the other units?"
"The Church hasn't found us yet. Moving in separate groups will be more effective at throwing them off the scent."
***
"Why aren't we using explosives?" Wayland asked as he watched Pascal's team busy themselves with the construction of a massive magical array.
"Kid, that's a very dangerous line of thinking." Pascal looked at him with an expression of weary wisdom. "Try not to mention that around the more traditional Magi. You'll only offend them. Modern technology is one thing, but modern weaponry is considered the hallmark of a 'Magus Killer' or a mere Magus-user. To a traditionalist, calling for explosives is practically the same as telling them they aren't true Magi. Some of them, especially those from the older Aristocratic families, are incredibly sensitive about it."
He glanced toward Bazett, who was standing some distance away, and lowered his voice. "This is a joint operation. If word got out that we used explosives, it would cause all sorts of political headaches. If this were a strictly Department of Policies mission, we might consider it. As long as there are no witnesses, there's no evidence. Our Captain isn't exactly the 'pursuit of the Root' type; she wouldn't care one way or the other."
Wayland blinked in surprise. In the Clock Tower, a Lord who didn't care about the Root was a rare creature indeed.
"What *is* she pursuing, then?"
"That's a long story for another time." Pascal patted Wayland on the shoulder. "Besides, I'd be careful about digging too deep into the Captain's business. You might find it's a direct route to a very messy end."
Wayland fell silent.
The magical array was beginning to take shape. In the heat of the afternoon sun, the faint shimmer of the symbols was almost invisible to the naked eye. Only the constant, frantic dance of the elements in the air hinted at its power.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]