Magician in Type-Moon

Page 548

This scene made El-Melloi II's eyes twitch slightly.

It's not about the quantity—it's about the "attitude" that allows such a magical scale to be "exposed."

He knew all too well that the first commandment in the world of magic was "concealment".

It's not just about hiding from ordinary people, but also about hiding from those in the same industry.

But now, what lies before him is—

"...Is this the 'Composite Workshop'?" Weber murmured to himself involuntarily.

Dozens, even hundreds, of magicians intersect and even manipulate spells within the same structure, far exceeding the scale of a personal workshop.

This is a behavior that goes against one's personal nature.

This is almost considered "heresy" among magicians who pursue a "unique path".

Generally speaking, unless there is a major event, magicians will not reveal details of their workshop to others.

Of course, disciples and the like are a different story. When learning each other's magic, magicians may sometimes open the workshop entrance, but they cannot invite others into the depths of the workshop.

Because it is filled with the essence of magic that they have been studying for a long time.

“That’s right… that’s the Composite Workshop—Kriegra.”

A hoarse, deep voice rang in El-Melloi II's ears, like rusty iron rubbing against rock.

The scene that came into view was indeed as rumored, and even far exceeded the limits of what words could describe.

That was not a "workshop" in the ordinary sense.

The entire space seemed to be an internal organ chamber hollowed out and transformed from the body of a giant beast.

Steel pipes coiled and twisted between the walls and ceiling, like blood vessels, delivering the magical flow to each work area.

High concentrations of spell particles float in the air, creating a sense of oppression through smell, sight, and even skin touch.

The operator was manipulating a magical artifact resembling heavy engineering machinery—a massive object that looked almost like an ancient remnant directly from the Alchemy Wars, its surface covered with inscriptions and blast-proof barriers.

They gripped the guide rails with both hands and laboriously tilted a giant flask that was twice the height of El-Melloi II.

Is that... a liquid?

The amber-colored solution churned and boiled in the bottle, emitting wisps of white mist that defied physical phenomena. A faint light seemed to shimmer at the bottom of the bottle, as if stars had dissolved into the glass.

A truckload of liquid flows slowly down the track system, connecting to a series of distillation machines along the way.

Each distillation machine employs a different refining method: some use alchemical fire pillars for heating, some use illusionary barriers to induce internal transformation of substances, and some have the puppets add catalysts by hand, precisely controlling the reaction time down to the millimeter.

That deep, low rumble—which Weber initially thought came from the whispers of monsters deep underground—now appears to be the very "breath" of the system itself.

Kriegra, the name sounds like the embodiment of some ancient demon god, and the scene before us is indeed a bizarre fusion of magic and industry.

After undergoing multiple filtrations, crystallizations, synthesis, and compressions, the truckload of solution was slowly cooled in a refining furnace at the very end.

A moment later, the furnace opening was made—

What was pushed out from within was not a block of metal, nor ore residue, but several pieces...

A gold nugget the size of only the tip of a little finger.

Brighter than a luminous stone, heavier than an iron weight.

They fell silently into the silver plate, making a soft, yet undeniably heavy sound.

This scene was essentially an extremely wasteful alchemy. It consumed enormous resources, energy, time, and magical energy, all to extract just this little bit of metal.

It could almost be called a "foolish act".

Chapter 596 Note (4k)

but--

—That is magic.

Although it is often believed that magic is based on the law of equivalent exchange, where every drop of cost must be compensated by an equal return, the truth of magic is actually more than that.

True magic is not simply "exchanging into one," but rather the infinite dilution of "nothingness."

It gradually makes things that were once full become empty and transparent, until they disappear into nothingness, leaving only a few remnants, like broken fragments of a miracle, remaining in the endless dilution ahead.

"Is this alchemy using Spirit Condensation Ore as a raw material?"

"I ask," El-Melloi II asked, his voice tinged with undisguised curiosity, his gaze fixed on the shifting gold nuggets.

"Yes......"

Rufreus's voice was still hoarse, but sounded steady.

"...Only in Albion...can such pure Spirit Condensation Ore be mined...That being said...in the past...those gold nuggets would have been at least the size of a fist..."

He paused slightly, as if recalling that period of prosperity.

"So……"

The Second Prince continued in a low voice, "Your Excellency Tramberg—it was Magdana who proposed the redevelopment of Albion's resources, wasn't it?"

The topic then shifted to the redevelopment plan for Albion, a proposal that evoked a complex mix of emotions.

Although Albion remains a major center in the magical world, the resources on this land are quietly dwindling.

Even if it's not as significantly declining every year as some rumors suggest, a glance reveals that mineral extraction is not what it used to be.

Magicians, as an endangered species, if the supply of magical resources in Albion is cut off, the entire magic world will fall into an unbearable predicament.

While the rewards are indeed substantial and tempting enough, the costs of redevelopment, especially the investment in this project, remain significant.

"What will the development costs be? Even with the current scale of mining, it already shows huge expenditures."

The Second Prince lowered his eyes, lost in thought.

If further development fails, the magician's hopes will be dashed, and he may not even be able to recover from his current predicament.

This is clearly a double-bind choice—

Regardless of which side they choose, the final result will not be a simple victory. In any case, the magicians are destined to pay the price for this game.

"...So," Rufreus's voice rang out again, tinged with a mixture of provocation and composure, "...what are your thoughts upon first seeing the Composite Workshop...Lord El-Melloi?"

"...Please add 'second generation'."

The Second Prince gently raised his head, pursed his lips, and his eyes no longer held the calmness of before, but were filled with a mixture of complex emotions.

"To be honest, I'm very moved. This kind of collaboration is truly spectacular. I never knew that magicians could cooperate and help each other like this to create such a breathtaking project."

"...Oh...so it seems...you're making fun of...the ecosystem of magicians?"

Rufreus's tone carried a subtle hint of sarcasm.

"No, that's not the case."

El-Melloi II immediately shook his head, his tone carrying a rare firmness, as if to avoid some kind of misunderstanding.

"But to be honest, I'm relieved... If that's the case, it should have a deterrent effect."

Rufreus stroked his cane, a deep voice slowly escaping from his throat.

His cloudy eyes reflected the still-operating complex of equipment in the workshop. Those massive mechanical systems, like monsters devouring everything, operated silently and relentlessly.

"In Albion, everyone is struggling to survive."

He paused, his eyes deep.

"Furthermore, everyone here knows the principles of magic and will not violate the first principle of concealment. Therefore, it is possible for such a complex workshop to be established."

exactly.

In this underground world, a magician's pride and secrets are not a priority.

Magical elements that must be concealed are considered a luxury here. Everyone knows that survival is the most important thing. That's why many magicians gather here to brainstorm and generously invest the spells they've just mined.

If magicians on the ground saw this scene, some might feel nauseous, while others would be driven mad with envy.

This is the oldest stronghold and bridgehead.

Because this is the front line for magicians, the mining city of Albion, the Tomb of Spirits.

"And then what? You didn't bring me here just for sightseeing, did you?"

El-Melloi II asked casually, his eyes still displaying that typical aristocratic composure.

"Of course……"

Rufreus paused slightly, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on his lips.

"The purpose of this trip is precisely over there."

The old man raised his chin and gazed into the distance.

In the direction he indicated, amidst the crisscrossing gaps between the massive pieces of equipment, stood a familiar figure.

Did that person cross the same rift before them, or did they use a different rift?

El-Melloi II's gaze sharpened as he recognized the figure—a figure he was already familiar with, and he felt a sense of anxiety and unease.

A young girl was anxiously hugging her arms, her brows furrowed with undisguised tension, and she even glared in their direction with a hint of displeasure in her eyes.

"You guys are so slow!"

She pouted, her tone carrying a hint of dissatisfaction, as if she had long been accustomed to the fact that those around her could not keep up with her pace.

Her silver hair fluttered in the wind, and her amber eyes gleamed with a sharp light.

Her face still looked youthful, but deep shadows had already quietly appeared on that profile that still carried a childlike air, proving that she had long since stepped into the abyss of magicians.

The more intense the sense of misfortune felt by human beings, the more vivid the magician's charm became.

That profoundness beyond her years is clearly an indelible mark etched upon her.

And all of this, the Second Emperor sighed silently in his heart—

The more fragile a being is, the more likely it is to attract enemies.

This is the usual practice in the world of clock towers.

Every ambitious magician hopes to exploit weaknesses and dissect the vulnerable. However, it is precisely this endless resistance that, in turn, shapes the magician's spirit and strength.