Wayland's brow furrowed. He felt as though he were staring at a jigsaw puzzle with one glaring, missing piece. "Are you absolutely certain everyone is accounted for?"
"Positive," Amad Harbor replied. "Twenty-three staff members were on duty that day. We have their clock-in and clock-out records, and they all match the footage. As for the passengers, we have the purchasing records for every ticket issued. Their identities and backgrounds have been thoroughly vetted."
"There's one person missing," Wayland said, his voice ringing with sudden, absolute certainty.
"Impossible!"
Amad looked at him and shook his head. While the boy before him was the lowest-ranked of the three, it was clear that both Pascal and Bazett deferred to him. Amad suspected he might be the protege of some high-ranking Lord in the Clock Tower.
Maintaining a polite tone, he continued, "Our security system is the most advanced of its kind. The station is the hub of our monitoring network in Oxenholme. It shouldn't be possible for anyone,Magi included,to evade it entirely."
"Scientific certainty is all well and good," Wayland said with a faint smile. He pointed to a specific pillar in the station's main hall. "But I saw a young man running a street stall right here. There are many ways to evade a camera,optical camouflage, high-level concealment spells, or even specialized Mystic Codes."
"Does that mean we've hit a dead end?" Pascal asked. He didn't even bother to question Wayland's observation; he simply accepted it as fact.
"Not exactly. At least we know what he looks like."
Wayland raised his right hand, and a magical circle ignited. A swirl of grey smoke drifted into the air, hovering like a translucent balloon.
This was only the second time he'd used detection magecraft since the incident with the wraiths.
In response to his Prana, the smoke began to ripple like the surface of a disturbed pond. Within the undulating waves, a hazy, grey image began to form.
He saw the same tangled, long hair.
The man appeared to be lying on a bed, or perhaps a stone altar.
Surrounding him was a gargantuan magical array. Wayland couldn't see the entire thing, but the image was saturated with white elemental energy. It wasn't a traditional pentagram; instead, the lines intersected to form a massive, glowing '+'.
The image flickered and then vanished.
The smoke suddenly cracked, and a single, heavy droplet of blood spilled onto the floor.
Bazett's hand blurred into a fist. A burst of black energy attempted to lunge from the smoke, but she crushed it into nothingness before it could reach Wayland.
"A curse," Wayland muttered.
He took a moment to steady his breathing. "To detect a scrying spell and launch a counter-attack that quickly... this man is definitely a professional."
He turned to Bazett. "Magecraft is a reflection of the caster's level. What's your assessment?"
"Rank: 'Fes' or 'Pride'," Bazett said, her tone as flat and clinical as ever. "He's skilled enough to trace your Prana back to its source for a counter-strike, yet weak enough that I could crush his curse with a single blow."
"Good. Then the situation is still within our control."
Wayland let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A standard 'Pride' rank magus would be no match for Bazett in a direct confrontation.
If it weren't for her lack of political ambition and her focus on field-work, Bazett would have achieved the 'Pride' or even 'Brand' rank years ago.
"Now, where would a man like that hide?"
Wayland tapped his finger against the desk, the rhythm sharp and thoughtful. "He's preparing a massive ritual array. He can't do that in the city center; he'd be detected instantly. It has to be somewhere in the outskirts."
"That's problematic," Amad interrupted. "Our primary monitoring network is focused on the urban areas. Oxenholme isn't like London; we don't have magical sensors on every street corner."
"True."
Wayland rubbed his temples. He attempted a secondary detection spell, targeting both Eliza and the Magus from the station, but both came up empty.
"Most Magi are cautious enough to mask their signatures. We only succeeded before because he was likely at a critical stage of his ritual."
***
"We have the results from the limousine's door handles."
Amad Harbor took a report from one of his subordinates. "We found two distinct sets of prints. One belongs to Pascal. The other has no match in our database."
"As I suspected."
Wayland sighed. The Seven Holy Paladins were a secretive organization; they wouldn't have left any traces in the secular world's records.
"What now?" Pascal asked, looking increasingly stressed as the trail went cold.
"To stop and set up a massive ritual while you're being hunted by both the Church and the Association is... irrational," Wayland said.
He paced the room, his mind working through the logic. "That suggests our hypothesis is correct: Eliza is the Stone of Destiny. And since she possesses her own consciousness, gaining her 'recognition' is likely a nightmare.
"It's possible Eliza was the one who tempted the Magus to defect in the first place. She's spent a thousand years as a tool within the Paladins' organization. Without consciousness, that wouldn't matter. But once she gained a sense of self, she would have wanted a way out.
"The Magus likely realized this. As a member of an organization that specializes in Mystic Codes, he would have known several ways to force a bonding ritual. This array is his solution. But to fuel a ritual powerful enough to force an Age of Gods artifact into submission... he doesn't have nearly enough Prana on his own, even at the 'Pride' rank."
"The Leylines!" Pascal shouted, his eyes wide with excitement. "He's drawing from the local leylines!"
"Wait,let me check the status of the Oxenholme network," Amad said. He quickly contacted the local magus family responsible for managing the city's leylines. As Western Europe fell under the Association's jurisdiction, nearly ninety percent of regional Magi held Association membership. Oxenholme was no exception.
To their collective confusion, the report came back clean. The leylines were stable and showed no signs of being tapped.
"Are you sure?" Pascal asked, double-checking the data.
"Positive," Amad replied. "The local family is small; they wouldn't have the courage to lie to the Department of Policies."
"If he's not using the leylines..."
Wayland suddenly considered a darker possibility. "Director Harbor, what was the weather forecast for today?"
"Huh?"
The non-sequitur caused Amad to blink. "I checked it this morning. It said 'Clear Skies'."
"But it's raining outside."
"Weather forecasts aren't always accurate," Amad said with a shrug.
"And if it's magecraft?" Wayland countered.
"Climate Magecraft?" Pascal was stunned. "You think he's using artificial rain? What would be the point?"
"To mask his true source of power."
Wayland's expression turned icy. "Pascal, outside of leylines, there's only one other way to gather that much Prana in a short amount of time, isn't there?"
Pascal froze. A look of pure, unbridled rage crossed his face, and even Bazett's stoic expression hardened into a glare.
"A Bound Field," Wayland said quietly. "Enclosing a population of ordinary humans and extracting their life force to convert it into Prana for the ritual."
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]