r18novel Page 637
Page 637
The moment their eyes met, the air seemed to freeze. A silent, heavy anguish, a mixture of deep helplessness and disbelief, spread between them like tangible smoke.
They are indeed troubled.
What troubles us is perhaps this question that Qingxuan posed—a question that seems like child's play yet has been imbued with sacred meaning—"the combination name."
But at a deeper level, the root of this distress, which is almost turning into a real sigh, is probably not the problem itself.
But...
The one standing before them, wearing a multi-pointed turban, a large conch shell, and incongruous robes, with a single, burning eye of fanaticism, who had abruptly turned the prelude to a life-or-death mission into a "naming contest"...
The person who asked this question.
Shirou clearly realized that if he did not satisfy this absurd "naming ceremony" at this moment, this man named Seigen would definitely act like a naughty child who throws a tantrum when he can't get his toy, dragging this crucial prelude into an endless and meaningless quagmire!
Time ticked by in the silent stalemate, and even the wind in the ruins seemed to carry a hint of anxiety.
Just as this suffocating silence was about to snap—
“…Let’s call it…The Demon Hunters.”
A voice softly rang out.
The voice was very soft, with a cool, clear quality unique to young girls, like shards of ice falling into a deep pool.
It came from behind Shirou, from that small shadow that was almost completely obscured by his broad back.
The nun-like girl, who had been silent like a delicate doll, clutching Shirou's clothes and hiding half her face, suddenly raised her head slightly. Strands of white hair slipped from the edge of her hood, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Her lifeless, glass-bead-like eyes were not looking at anyone at this moment, but were lowered, staring at the broken bricks and stones at her feet, as if the words just now did not come from her mouth, but floated down from the void.
"Demon hunting?" Qingxuan's single eye lit up instantly, like a child who had discovered a new toy.
He turned sharply toward the source of the sound, his face showing a mixture of fervent enthusiasm and critical scrutiny.
“Although… it does align with the mission’s objectives…” he stroked his chin, as if considering it seriously, “… it just sounds a bit… um… too blunt, too lacking in elegance, too unpleasant to hear…”
"I think the 'Demon Hunters' are pretty good."
Before Qingxuan's complaint had completely faded, another voice, like a cold iron hammer, slammed down without warning and with decisive force!
That is, Mine Shirou.
He didn't give Qingxuan any further chance to demonstrate his "artistic appreciation." His gaze never left Qingxuan's face; his deep eyes held no room for negotiation, only an absolute determination that "this is the end."
He nodded slightly, a small movement, yet it carried immense force.
“Two to one.” He uttered these three words clearly, like a judge’s gavel falling.
"Let's choose this name."
The decision is final!
There was no debate, no compromise, and absolutely no respect for Qingxuan's pitiful "artistic pursuits."
Shirou used the simplest, most brutal, and most effective method to bring the absurd issue of "team name" to the forefront of the agenda and, with an unquestionable dictatorial attitude, directly made a decision!
His patience for Qingxuan's meaningless performances had long since run out.
Every minute and every second is precious and should not be wasted on a farce like a "naming contest"!
Qingxuan's expression, a mixture of criticism and theatricality, froze instantly, like a clown's mask suddenly cracking.
"Okay, okay, the minority shall obey the majority."
Qingxuan dragged out his words, letting out a deliberately exaggerated sigh, like a deflated balloon, and his shoulders slumped, making his strange robes look even looser.
He pursed his lips, his single eye almost overflowing with resentment, yet it also carried a sense of resignation, as if saying, "A wise man doesn't suffer a loss in front of him."
But this resignation lasted less than a second. His eyes darted around, and the reluctance on his face was instantly replaced by a new expression, a mixture of inquiry and doubt.
He rubbed his hands together, leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice, speaking in a tone as if sharing a secret:
"Speaking of which..." His gaze lingered between Shirou and the girl, "...Are you sure your target is really hiding somewhere in Europe? And..."
He pointed to London, shrouded in smoke and ruins, and said, "...in this godforsaken place?"
His doubts were not unfounded; they were backed by intelligence.
"Of course I'm sure." Shirou's answer was resolute, without the slightest hesitation. His gaze was like a rock, piercing through Seigen's doubts and landing on some invisible coordinate deep within the city.
“But…” Qingxuan’s single eye narrowed, a cunning glint in it, “…According to the information I have, that guy…”
He deliberately used vague references, as if he was wary of something, "...didn't they make a big splash in Japan just a few weeks ago?"
He clicked his tongue, seemingly savoring the impact of the intelligence. "That commotion was truly... earth-shattering. You could smell the sulfur even across the sea."
His gaze was fixed on Shirou, trying to catch a hint of wavering or hesitation on the other's face.
However, it was not Shirou who answered him.
"this one……"
A clear, cool voice, with a hint of inhuman quality, gently rang out, like an ice bead falling into a silver plate.
It was the nun in the habit clinging to Shirou. She still hid half her face in the shadow of her hood, revealing only her beautifully shaped jawline and pale lips.
Her voice was calm and serene, yet it contained an absolute confidence that transcended the mundane and stemmed from ancient traditions.
“...Our church naturally has its own way of determining His...whereabouts.” She pronounced the honorific “He” with exceptional clarity, carrying a complex meaning of both awe and detachment towards a forbidden existence.
“That’s true…” Upon hearing this, Qingxuan’s doubts vanished instantly, replaced by an expression of sudden realization, tinged with amusement and mockery.
He stroked his chin, glanced at the girl with his one eye, and whispered a sarcastic remark in a volume almost a whisper, yet just loud enough for her to hear:
"...After all...He is a great figure worshipped in your church's mythology..." A sarcastic smile curled at the corner of his mouth, "...The famous...Angry Samael."
Samael.
The name was like a cold wedge, instantly driving into the dead silence!
The embodiment of the serpent. Tempting fangs, slippery scales, cold vertical pupils... all the primal images of betrayal and depravity are condensed in this name.
A dual identity of angel and demon. Once standing on a throne of glory, yet falling into the abyss due to rage and arrogance, its very existence is a paradox of the tearing apart of divinity and demonic nature.
Wrath, one of the seven deadly sins. The embodiment of inhuman rage, the karmic fire that burns away reason, the pure impulse of destruction itself.
It represents temptation, destruction, and death. It is the serpent that tempted Eve to touch the forbidden fruit, the grim reaper wielding a scythe to reap lives, and the sower of the seeds of chaos and end.
Qingxuan seemed completely absorbed in his own leaping and dangerous thoughts, oblivious to the chilling atmosphere that had suddenly plummeted around him, solidified by the name "Samael." He even stroked his chin in a seemingly serious manner, his single remaining eye darting around as if he were earnestly calculating some utterly absurd mathematical problem.
“Speaking of which…” he drawled, “…this is a ‘god’! The real deal, the kind that crawled out of mythology!”
He spread his hands, causing the sleeves of his robe to sway, his posture so exaggerated it was as if he were performing a one-man show.
"Just the three of us..." He pointed to himself, then to Shirou and the silent girl behind him.
"...With such small arms and legs, can you really... 'snap' Him off?" He made a throat-slitting gesture, but his face wore an almost frivolous smile that was completely out of place with his action.
"Regarding combat strength..." Shirou Emiya's voice rang out, "...you don't need to worry about that."
The moment the words fell!
There was no sign of drawing his sword, no gathering of power.
His right hand, hanging at his side, twitched very slightly at the wrist—
Swish!
A cold, refined, and sharp glint, seemingly capable of cutting through light, slid out from his dark sleeve without warning!
Those were not standard swords forged in modern industry; their shapes were ancient and ferocious, carrying the weight and killing intent accumulated over time.
It was the legendary murder weapon that once belonged to the head of the Night Calamity Clan—"Muramasa"!
This ancient sword, with a history of over five hundred years, possesses a terrifying power that is enough to tear apart ordinary magical barriers and sever conceptual shackles simply by virtue of the profound mystery it carries!
Chapter 663 Amnesia (4k)
"You seem to be awake?" The voice was soft, like a cold wind gliding across ice, echoing in the room filled with the mixed smells of disinfectant and old books.
Matou Ike did not approach; he simply stood quietly at the edge of the shadows near the door, like a silent observer.
On the bed, the girl who had been silent for so long, like a delicate doll, Arcueid Brunestard—her long, white-gold-silk-like eyelashes trembled very slightly.
Suddenly, those tightly closed eyes snapped open!
There was no confusion upon waking, no sluggishness from a hangover.
Those crimson pupils, the moment they opened, were like two gems suddenly ignited, containing molten lava and starlight!
Pure and clear, yet burning with inhuman vigilance and... a trace of the not-yet-fully-formed ferocity of a top predator!
The echo of the question seemed to still linger in the air.
Like a spark thrown into boiling oil!
"—!"
The pure white figure on the bed trembled violently! It wasn't a weak, frightened reaction, but an extreme, instantaneous tension, as if an invisible electric current had pierced through the entire body!
She was like a startled cat with its fur standing on end, her spine arching in a beautiful yet explosive curve, her slender fingers gripping the white sheets beneath her tightly, her knuckles turning bluish-white from the force!
Her platinum blonde hair moved without wind, strands of it cascading over her shoulders like exploded, static-filled silver strands!
Those crimson pupils, like the most sophisticated radar, instantly locked onto Matou Ike at the edge of the shadows!
His gaze was sharp as a knife, with a penetrating power capable of piercing the soul, and a kind of... pure, almost instinctive hostility!
“You…” Her voice rang out, not with the softness of a young girl, but with a cold and wary quality, like metal rubbing against stone, each syllable like a taut bowstring.
"...Who is it?" The question itself carries a sense of oppressive pressure, as if it keeps people at a distance and could launch a fatal attack at any moment.
"..." The speed at which the eerie light flowed in Matou Ike's eyes seemed to pause subtly for a moment.
It wasn't a sense of being intimidated, but rather a... pure, chilling bewilderment. Like a sophisticated logical circuit encountering undecipherable gibberish.
He turned his head slightly, and for the first time, an almost absurd expression appeared on his pale face.
It was an extremely rare expression, almost one that could be described as "strange".
"You don't know... who I am?" His voice remained steady, but his tone carried a clear, undisguised question.
His gaze, like a probe, carefully and scrutinizingly swept over Arcueid's stunningly beautiful face, which was filled with wariness and unfamiliarity.
Satire.