Magician in Type-Moon

Page 538

By the time I arrived at the train station, night had already completely fallen.

The old cement platform is covered with layers of cracks, and a few crooked and drooping dead trees grow along the edge of the rails, as if they have long given up the will to grow upwards.

Looking up at the sky, the constellations hang quietly in the winter sky, and the stars are clearly visible—perhaps because the streetlights are sparse, those stars appear particularly bright.

But in places untouched by starlight, some kind of "operation" is quietly brewing.

—Like a monster escaping the gaze of the stars.

"understood."

Matou Ike stood by the platform, his phone screen black for a long time. He looked at it for a while, seemingly not paying attention to the specific content of the message, and simply pressed the power button before putting it back in his pocket.

"What's wrong?" Yvette stood not far behind him, her tone indifferent.

"It's nothing," he replied casually, then leaned against a bench and slowly sat down.

"Aozaki said that the transportation and guide are all ready. Let's wait here for a while."

As he spoke, he took out a piece of cold fried fish from the paper bag, took a bite, chewed it a couple of times, then frowned and spat the food into the plastic bag next to him.

"Tsk, it's so disgusting."

He muttered to himself as he continued chewing on the lingering grease, as if enduring it or confirming that some habit had long since failed.

Because Matou Ike's disdain for authentic British food was so obvious, Yvette couldn't help but chuckle.

That's why she was a step behind and only then noticed the strange changes around the station.

There was no one there.

Of course, it's not surprising that the platform is sometimes deserted in remote towns.

It's 7 p.m., and there should still be pedestrians on their way home or vehicles driving through the streets. But looking around, not only the station but also the surrounding streets are completely silent, as if the entire town has suddenly been cut out of reality.

This is a barrier—

The magician's barrier blocks out common sense and isolates the outside world, making the entire space exist solely for a certain "action".

A thick fog rose from nowhere, silently enveloping everything, like an invisible hand dragging the world down from the starlight.

The fog was unnatural; the demonic patterns floating within it resembled the breath exhaled by some ancient steam engine.

Just then, a piercing and distant roar of steam broke the silence—a sound that should have been obsolete by the times, now slowly echoed in this small station sealed off by a barrier.

"……This is……"

Yvette instinctively turned her head to look, and the next second, a dark gray mechanical train appeared from afar through the thick fog.

The locomotive, like a sharp blade cutting through the fog, was heavy and steady. The metal body gracefully slowed down and stopped at the edge of the platform. Even the sound of the rails rubbing together seemed to have a rhythm, like a conductor's baton gently waving to summon a uniform mechanical symphony.

"The Magic Eye Collection Train".

Matou Ike whispered the name, his tone showing no surprise, only a moment of hesitation.

The train, like a winter phantom, quietly stopped on the dreamlike tracks left by the old era.

The train doors opened, thick fog rushed into the carriage, and a figure appeared.

He was a thin, middle-aged man in a neat uniform.

He stepped out of the car, bowed meticulously, and spoke in a low, polite tone:

"Nice to meet you, Lord Matouike. You may address me as Rodin."

"Tsk... Were you really invited by Aozaki?"

Matou Ike narrowed his eyes, his tone revealing obvious distrust.

"Ever since we learned that Dr. Hartrace had entered the rift in the Spirit Tomb Albion, Miss Aozaki speculated that you might choose to follow him in. So she contacted us, hoping to use the train as a means of transportation."

“No, what I mean is…” Matou Ike interrupted the other’s seemingly long-winded speech, directly asking the question she wanted to ask—

"Why would Aozaki come to you... no, why did you agree to Aozaki's request?"

Aozaki Touko once caused a huge disturbance at the auction of the Mystic Eyes Collection Train.

This is not a big secret among high-ranking magicians.

Matou Ike knew better than anyone else just how absurd Aozaki Touko's actions had been that time.

The fact that these two forces, who seemed destined to be mortal enemies, suddenly cooperated is truly puzzling.

"...because we also have a huge debt to settle with Dr. Hartrace."

The conductor, Rodin, remained calm and composed, yet beneath that icy surface, an unexpected heat seeped out. It wasn't anger, but a temperature closer to obsession, like the muffled sound of steel being reforged in a furnace.

"Furthermore, I have spoken with Ms. Aozaki. I now understand your motives for this trip."

He paused, as if to confirm that they were both ready to take on the weight of the next sentence.

"Our Magic Eye Collection Train can reach the mining city of Albion, the Tomb of Spirits. If you intend to track Hartles alone, this is the safest and fastest way."

He put forward a proposal that seemed generous but was actually full of hidden meanings.

The Magic Eye Collection Train—a train that should have been traversing the border between magic and desire—suddenly transformed into a life-saving ferry.

It is said that it travels on a narrow track between reality and another world. If the Tomb of Albion is not located at a conventional geographical coordinate, but rather floats in a mysterious, otherworldly realm, then this train may be the only path to approach it.

Yvette instinctively gripped the bag at her side. She glanced hesitantly at Matou Pond.

"...Matou?"

Should we accept this unexpected "help"? The choice seems too natural, which makes us uneasy.

However, Matouchi's reaction was surprisingly decisive.

“…Aozaki would reveal so much information…which means she was prepared for this.” He muttered to himself, or perhaps he was debating with someone.

"I see. No wonder that guy didn't say a single unnecessary word. For her, it's easier to just throw me into the vortex than to patiently explain to me and accept my questions."

Matou Ike clicked his tongue, his tone slightly sarcastic.

After a few seconds of silence, he looked up at the carriage.

"...Where's the tour guide?"

"I've already boarded the train," Rodin replied.

"Get in the car?" Yvette repeated instinctively.

The question had barely been uttered when a voice came from the side—

"Hi."

Accompanying the wave was an unfamiliar man who leaned out from another car door, like a lighthearted character suddenly stepping onto the stage at the climax of a performance.

He had a sturdy build and tanned skin. His face was rugged but full of energy. His face was covered with an unshaven beard, and a dirty turban was casually wrapped around his head.

Even so, the aura he exuded, as if he had stepped out of the sunlight, was so vivid it was almost blinding.

On this train filled with a magical atmosphere and swirling shadows, he was like a person who had wandered into the night in the daytime.

Most magicians have a somber air about them, but this man—even covered in dust—seemed to be constantly bathed in the desert winds and the midday sun.

"Fruka, an astrologer."

He confidently announced his name, a slightly inappropriate smile playing on his lips.

Matou Ike nodded in response: "...Matou Ike".

There were no pleasantries or further formalities. His attention quickly returned to Rodin.

"So—can I ask you for a favor?"

"of course."

The conductor lowered his head and gave an impeccable bow of courtesy.

"We will use the name of the Magic Eye Collection Train to transport you to the Spirit Tomb Albion."

The conductor, Rodin, bowed and pointed to the train door.

As if in sync with his movements, the steam whistle sounded noblely and bravely.

.........

"...We can't see anything outside the car window."

Yvette leaned close to the window and murmured softly. It was an instinctive reaction driven by unease, yet also as if confirming that she was still part of some kind of "reality."

However, outside the window was not just darkness—but an unfathomable void.

There was no light, no shadows, and even the flow of time seemed to have been emptied out, leaving only the faint light inside the carriage and themselves reflected in the glass.

"Isn't it better if we can't see it?"

Furuka replied lightly, tossing the small knife in his hand.

"This train doesn't follow the normal route. And its destination is Albion, the Tomb of the Dead... Do you dare bet that there's something to see outside?"

The silver light from the flipping knife danced between his fingers, like a lost shooting star.

"If you see any 'information' that's beyond your comprehension, and it all comes in at once, your brain will break down. There's no need to deliberately provoke bad luck, is there? We still have to walk into that world-class mental hospital alive."

"I didn't know you were a survivor."

Hearing this "personal experience" tone, Matou Ike raised an eyebrow and interjected.

Furuka shrugged, twisting the hilt of his sword and tucking it into his sleeve: "Probably because I haven't been on TV advertising."

"Stop messing around. As long as you dare to reveal that you're a guy who came out of Albion alive, it will greatly increase your reputation as a mercenary—a trump card for a mercenary magician like you who makes a living by completing missions."

Upon hearing this blunt assessment, Furuka suddenly fell silent for a moment.

In the silent carriage after the whistle blew, such silence felt like a sudden, abrupt block of iron crashing heavily into the air.

He finally spoke, his voice becoming low and slow: "The information you got from my employer should have included another name for me, right?"

Before Matou Ike could speak, Yvette blurted out—as if unconsciously repeating the file number in her mind.

“...'The Master Killer'.”

“Yes.” Furuka nodded, her expression calm to the point of being almost indifferent.

“I spent two whole years in Albion, the cemetery, to lay low. The title of ‘survivor’ sounds prestigious, but if you use it for publicity, people will ask me why I went in and why I came out alive… If you dig any deeper, they’ll find out who killed whom.”

The tone wasn't one of repentance, but rather a frankness tinged with weariness.