Alchemy Principles of Type-Moon World

Oh, by the way, King Arthur is limited to England, and the Irish do not recognize him as the King of the Wild Hunt.

Sister Ilumia's armor flashed with purple arcs of electricity, and her smile was filled with pride and excitement. In the moment of defeating the heresy, the meaning of her existence was most directly satisfied.

"...Oh my." Her brown eyes sparkled with fighting spirit and excitement. "Even though we've lived in the same village for a long time, this is the first time we've met."

There was a sense of ease in her voice, and the provocation was not obvious, but the tense nerves of the people present made the words carry a strange sense of tension.

The girl before him, still wearing the silent metal mask, stared at the nun and Priest Fernande with an indifferent look. She didn't move, as if she didn't care about the conversation before her. No expression could be seen under the cold mask.

"I've heard a lot about you. The spirit of King Arthur, the master of Blackmoor Cemetery," the nun continued, her tone frivolous. "You're not even going to speak to an agent of the Templar Order?"

The girl was silent for a moment, as if weighing something. Finally, she slowly raised one hand and waved it gently.

"Clear them."

The voice was as cold as ice, simple and brief. As soon as the words fell, the air froze, and the skeleton soldiers in the space suddenly swarmed forward, as if receiving some kind of command.

Two skeleton soldiers, spears raised, charged at Sister Ilumia. The sharp blades of the spears sent a whirring sound as they pierced her chest. The nun's armor clanged with a resounding sound. Without hesitation, she struck out, swiftly passing the spear's tip, deflecting it with an incredibly precise elbow. With one smooth movement, she leaped into the skeleton soldier's arms and unleashed a fierce uppercut.

The punch hit the skeleton soldier's sternum, and the bones made a terrible breaking sound. The chest skeleton was concave as if it was compressed. Then another punch accurately broke the jaw of another skeleton soldier, and bones flew everywhere.

"Ha, that's really convenient. It suits my taste." Sister Ilumia's smile became even brighter. She took a step forward. As she moved, the ceremonial armor called "Gray Lock" on her armor once again released a violent purple arc of electricity. The entire space seemed to be shrouded in her fighting spirit.

"Although the original plan was to get rid of Gray," she said in a relaxed tone, "it's not impossible to target you instead. If this village really is planning some stupid ritual to bring back King Arthur, then as long as we get rid of you or Gray, the problem will be solved, right?"

She challenged him mercilessly, her sharp tone laced with intense hostility. But behind her, Priest Fernande was left without protection. While the number of skeleton soldiers guarding him wasn't large, it still put a strain on the helpless, overweight man.

He kept moving, dodging the skeleton soldiers that kept attacking him from all sides, frantically using up his limited remaining magic power. Every time he wanted to pause, he had to scramble to avoid the sudden sharp blades. His steps were clumsy, and he often stumbled and was almost forced into a dead end.

He was almost forced to the ground by the skeleton soldiers, gasping for breath, each breath accompanied by a sharp gasp and anxiety. He looked around anxiously, hoping to find an opportunity to use the baptismal chant on the girl known as the spirit of King Arthur.

——However, at this moment, a strange sound attracted his attention.

The temple in the distance seemed to sense some kind of call and began to tremble. The stone walls shook violently, and low rumbling sounds came from the cracks in the earth walls. An indescribable sense of oppression filled the air.

"What is that..." Priest Fernande muttered to himself.

The tremors in the underground space grew stronger, and the temple walls began to crack. The stone structure seemed to gradually rise under the immense pressure. Above was a swamp, and the lake surged, a massive torrent of water rapidly pouring back into the underground space. The air was filled with moisture and water vapor, and black water flowed through the hollow like a snake, corroding every inch of space.

Before that immense force, even the skeleton soldiers beside them seemed insignificant. As the temple rose, the entire underground space shook violently, and water poured in. The violent current created a shockwave that swept across the entire space. Whether it was the skeleton soldiers, Priest Fernand, or Sister Ilumia, all were swept away by the violent torrent.

————————————————————

The first rays of dawn sunlight had just shone through the edge of the swamp. A thin mist filled the air, and the air was damp and cold, carrying the smell of mud and water vapor. Occasionally, ripples appeared on the swamp surface, and faint vibrations could be heard from underfoot.

At the edge of the swamp, a group of villagers followed the old woman's instructions, traversing the slippery mud with a hurried, hurried pace. Their faces were filled with intense enthusiasm, their eyes gleaming with a fearless madness, as if once they achieved their goal, they would overturn all obstacles and achieve their long-awaited victory. The mud crunched beneath their feet, yet no one paused.

Suddenly, amidst the clamor, a cry of surprise broke the brief silence: "King? King!"

The old woman screamed loudly, her voice filled with shock and panic. Her crazy expression instantly became distorted, almost hysterical: "What happened? King of the Spirits!"

A villager nearby stopped, with a puzzled and doubtful look on his face, and asked in a low voice: "What's wrong, grandma?"

The old woman seemed to come back to her senses in a daze, gasping for breath and mumbling to herself.

"Ahh... the temple has been activated, but unexpectedly, it has also triggered a flash flood..." Her voice began to grow low and fuzzy, as if her memories were also shuffling in confusion. However, she soon regained her extreme enthusiasm, her eyes gleaming with an almost obsessive light. "It's just a flash flood, it won't harm our king—"

Her voice became louder and louder, and her emotions became more and more excited. The old woman waved her hands and began to incite the surrounding villagers.

"—Everyone! Everyone! The temple built by our ancestor Wu Yaoqi%baba Ling⑦ Liu%3yi has been activated at this moment. All we have to do is offer a sacrifice before the temple, offering the king's body, and the king's spirit and body will be united!"

Her shout made the surrounding villagers stop and their eyes flashed with fanaticism and blind faith, as if her words were enough to change the entire situation.

However, as her voice fell, the ground not far away began to shake slightly. The sound of mountain torrents was getting closer and closer, accompanied by the sound of heavy water flowing.

"A flash flood has occurred, and the members of the Holy Church are still down there. This is just the right time to deal with another problem!"

Her cry continued to spread: "Now we just need to capture Gray and present her to the king!"

As soon as she finished speaking, her eyes suddenly swept over to a young villager in the distance. "Grandma," the villager ran over panting, his face slightly nervous, "Everyone from the mountain below has come up. I asked them to reroute to the several exits down the swamp, which were blocked in advance."

The old woman nodded, her lips curled up slightly in a smug smile. "Then, young man, continue to follow their whereabouts!" Her tone became urgent. "Those who lack the strength, follow me to the temple to await the king's arrival!"

She turned around and gave another order to the surrounding villagers, her face showing an extremely determined expression: "Hurry up! Speed up!"

Suddenly, she stopped and glanced sharply at the villagers around her. "By the way," she suddenly remembered something and turned to ask, "Where's Magdalena?"

"She said Gray would definitely flee to the swamp, so she went there alone..." The villager thought for a moment and replied, "If the temple rose from the ground, she would definitely notice it."

"That's good, hurry up," the old woman's expression relaxed instantly upon hearing this, a hint of satisfaction flashing in her eyes, "Gray is the only one who escaped this, we must not let her go."

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The first light of dawn had just fallen on the edge of the swamp. A thin mist filled the air, and the air was heavy with moisture, carrying a hint of damp earth. The distant mountains were dyed a pale golden by the first rays of sunlight, while the black water and green grass in the swamp were still tightly shrouded by the fading darkness.

At the edge of the cemetery, on a solitary, commanding height, an old, withered tree leaned against the hillside, its ancient branches swirling and drooping. Beneath the tree, a flock of crows suddenly gathered. They perched densely on the branches, pecking at the bark softly. Occasionally, a few would flap their wings and croak, a loud and piercing call that seemed completely out of place in the quiet dawn. The beat of their wings, like the beat of drums, echoed throughout the empty cemetery.

The surrounding environment did not seem to show any abnormality. Even most of the villagers who had passed by here only stopped briefly, looked at the movements in the swamp from a high place, and then hurried away.

Despite this, the man holding the axe did not seem to relax at all. He held the axe tightly in his hand, his face looking extremely determined, and stared at the old tree closely.

"How long are you going to stay here?" His voice was low, but with an intuitive certainty. He spoke slowly, as if he was talking to an invisible existence in the air.

As soon as he finished speaking, a flock of crows in the bushes suddenly flapped their wings violently and issued a shrill cry, as if responding to his question. Then came an unfathomable silence, and the air in the cemetery seemed to freeze for a moment.

"You claim to be Mr. Velvet's accomplice, yet you allow him to be hunted by the villagers?" the man with the axe continued, even though from his perspective, there was nothing around him.

"Ah...did you actually forget to hide the fluctuations in your soul?" Xing Qingqiu's voice suddenly rang out in the air. "But I'm special. The range of my soul field is limited to my body...and even this can be detected——"

Following Xing Qingjiu's tone, something in the air seemed to be quietly shifting. The ripples that had been forgotten in the air began to overflow bit by bit. It was as if the ripples slowly spread from Xing Qingjiu's presence and quickly spread around.

"——What a great magician, Belsac."

As Xing Qingfu finished speaking, there seemed to be a subtle fluctuation in the air. Then, a figure suddenly appeared beside the old tree at the edge of the cemetery.

This Asian man, in his early thirties, wore a simple dark shirt and had slightly messy black hair. He lazily leaned against the tree trunk, his hands in his pockets, and tilted his head to look at Belsac. He didn't seem to be in any hurry or nervousness, but rather seemed casual and relaxed.

No, rather than saying that he "appeared" next to the tree, it would be more accurate to say that he had been there from the beginning, but was not noticed by Belsac until he took the initiative to cancel the concealment spell.

"I found the vendor unconscious in the church. His injuries didn't look like he could handle them on his own, so I assumed someone else might have offered help," Belsac replied calmly. "Plus, word-of-mouth magic seems to be quite suitable for tasks like controlling spirits, so I went looking for him."

"Huh?" Xing Qingfu chuckled softly. "No, no, no, your detection accuracy is almost catching up with the instrument that my teacher Lin Mengzi just adjusted a few days ago." He sighed slightly. "What's that? Can't the mechanical precision beat the lathe master's—"

"--So, what are you looking for me for?"

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I recommend this book to a friend of mine. It is about to be finished. It is also a science fiction book. It talks about super Turing machines fighting each other. If you like the style of this book, you should also like this one. You can go and have a look.

Godzilla, Humans Get Out of Space

Summary:

When Godzilla once again ended his two hundred years of sleep, a strange thing appeared in his brain.

"Name: Godzilla"

"Height: 218 meters"

"Weight: 50 tons"

"Main Quest: Get humans out of this universe."

"award:……"

Godzilla: ...? What is this?

------

It's not a transmigration, Godzilla is real! It's real!

Volume 33: Xing Qingjiu’s Perfect Arithmetic Classroom: . King Arthur is not dead, why resurrect her?

The air around was so heavy that one could almost feel the friction of every trace of moisture. The faint morning light at the edge of the swamp had not yet completely dispelled the night fog. The hazy morning mist was filled with the smell of humus, carrying the fishy stench of soil and damp moisture.

"I'm just unsure of your purpose." Belsac sighed slightly, tilting his head slightly, his gaze sweeping across the desolate cemetery outlined by the dawn's dim light. He stood upright, the wet ground beneath his feet making a soft gurgling sound under his weight. He still held the axe tightly in his hand.

He peered through the trees and could vaguely see the edge of the swamp, even the movements in the mist were reflected in his eyes.

"Your Excellency claims to be Mr. Velvet's assistant, but you haven't done anything to help Mr. Velvet," Belsac said after a moment of thought. "You have connections with the Holy Church and rescued the church's contacts, but you didn't provide any help for Fernand and Ilumia's actions. It's really..."

"You can think of me as someone like that guy from Atlas Court," he said in a relaxed tone, dismissing Belsac's doubts. He raised his hand, casually straightening his collar before continuing, "Although I do want to end this disgusting farce, I have an agreement with that guy Waver—"

"—In this matter, I will minimize the impact on him." He turned slightly, his eyes fixed on the still-unclear swamp scene in the distance. "In other words, since he hasn't yet recovered from this incident, I naturally can't break my promise."

"I see." Belsac nodded slowly, but there was no trace of relief in his eyes. He seemed somewhat dissatisfied with the answer, but he did not immediately refute it. Instead, he fell into a brief silence. His gaze passed through Xing Qingjiu, taking in the commotion of the swamp in the distance. The dampness in the air gradually dissipated, and the sunlight grew brighter, gradually illuminating the mottled tombstones and withered trees in the cemetery.

"So, Your Excellency is not an idle bystander, but is following a certain agreement. Mr. Velvet's situation is quite surprising." After a moment of silence, Belsac suddenly spoke, breaking the dead silence, "But this incident will soon be over."

"The villagers will soon discover Gray's body, and then she and Velvet will take advantage of the chaos to escape from the swamp," Belsac continued, his voice calm yet tinged with a stifling indifference. "That's the end of this farce."

"When the counterfeit turns to mud in the sun..." Belsac's eyes suddenly grew colder. He slowly shifted his gaze into the distance, piercing through the damp air and withered trees, towards the slowly rising temple in the distance. "The obsession we've maintained for centuries will backfire."

Belsac paused slightly, his leather boots firmly planted on a moss-covered boundary stone. His heels slowly rotated, the moss making a slight creaking sound as he rubbed against it. As he rotated, his boots left a crescent-shaped indentation.

"Then what is your purpose?" Xing Qingfu asked with the same lazy look.

Belsac was silent for a moment, his eyes flickering slightly, and then he spoke slowly: "I want to postpone King Arthur's resurrection."

"It's just a delay, not a stop?" Xing Qingqi raised his eyebrows. He took out a tin wine flask from his trouser pocket and shook it gently. The liquid in the flask made a slight sound. "I thought you were a complete traitor or had nothing to do with them."

"I am Blackmore's gravekeeper and a magician rooted in this land." Belsac's gaze shifted slightly towards Xing Qingjiu, his voice whispering like the wind. "Thus, as the steward of this land, as passed down from ancient times, I prioritize protecting the tranquility of this land. Even if King Arthur is awakened from his slumber one day, his awakening should be blessed."

He took another long breath, as if making a difficult decision: "But... it's not the time yet, at least that's my opinion."

"In short, King Arthur's resurrection is impossible," Xing Qingjiu suddenly stretched, leaning forward slightly, his bones making a slight crackling sound. "Resurrecting King Arthur... is completely impossible," he said, slowly turning the wine jug in his hand. The wine sloshed gently within the jug, making a crisp sound, as if mocking this absurd dream. "The ritual here is like trying to piece together a pocket watch from broken clock parts and trying to make it work."

"This..." Belsac's brow furrowed slightly, and he muttered to himself, chewing on Xing Qingqi's words. "Although you are a friend of the dean of the Atlas Academy," he paused, his eyes sweeping across the swamp shrouded in moisture and the smell of decay, "but after only two days here, you can come to such a decisive conclusion... It's really beyond my expectation."

Xing Qingwu smiled faintly, seemingly unconcerned with the other party's doubts. He tilted the wine jug slightly, and the cold sunlight fell on the metal surface, reflecting a faint dazzling light.

"Because the question is very simple." His tone was relaxed, with almost no hesitation. "Because King Arthur is not dead at all, understand?"

"What...?" Belsac leaned forward subconsciously, as if he couldn't understand the meaning of Xing Qingqiu's words. His voice rose slightly due to shock.

Xing Qingwu was not in a hurry to explain, but just slowly turned the wine jug in his hand.

"Eight years ago, I was the victor of the Fourth Holy Grail War," he paused, as if recalling those forgotten events. "And during that Holy Grail War, I met King Arthur, a girl. It's still hard to hold back when I think about it now."

"Later, my teacher told me that the girl wasn't dead at all," he continued, his relaxed tone tinged with an inexplicable reminiscence, as if that time was both distant and yet very recent. "A guy named Merlin or something made a deal with my teacher and redeemed her soul somewhere outside of Heroes' Throne."

"Anyway, King Arthur's body is still sleeping somewhere. And I've almost figured out the process of your resurrection ceremony." He waved his hand and said lightly, "The idea is probably to cultivate similar bodies from generation to generation, so the child looks almost exactly like King Arthur—"

"—But the original body is still alive, and someone is specifically trying to retrieve her soul. Why would King Arthur's soul end up in this fake one?"

Belsac's expression froze.

The ritual, built over centuries, had turned out to be nothing more than an illusion, a spiral of ignorance and obsession. His breathing quickened slightly, his gaze lost in the air for a moment before finally settling on Xing Qingjiu.

“…” He tried to find words, but the absurd feeling in his heart made him speechless for a moment.

Xing Qingwu turned the wine pot slowly and the wine swayed in the pot.

Belsac didn't expect the truth to be so absurd.

If it is a problem of ritual, although it is absurd that these villagers have been fanatically believing in an impossible goal for hundreds of years, but... it can only be said that it is a joke that the world gives to ignorance.

But he didn't expect that reality would be more of a joke than he thought.

Because King Arthur is not dead at all, even if the ritual is correct, it cannot succeed.

Belsac's shoulders trembled slightly, and he laughed, his voice low but full of deep mockery: "Ha... This is really..." He shook his head in self-mockery, as if he felt ridiculous for himself, for Gray, and even more so for the villagers in the swamp.

The moisture flowing in the air gradually brought a new chill. A few drops of water slid down from the branches, gently hitting the rotten grass, making a low sound.

Xing Qingwu suddenly stretched, stood up straight, and seemed ready to leave.

"Anyway, I'll be leaving now."

Belsac looked at Xing Qingjiu's back and suddenly reached out to try to keep him.

"No need to say anything. Now that our mutual goals are clear, it's easy to understand why you came to me." Xing Qingqiu glanced back at him, gently patted the wine pot and said, "I myself am not a trustworthy person. Although I really want to keep my promise, Weber's stubbornness is not as important as human life—"

"——This farce really should end."

————————————————————

The first rays of morning light penetrated the thick fog of the swamp and gently sprinkled on the wet land. The faint light shone on the tangled swamp grass, and dewdrops formed tiny water droplets on the grass leaves, reflecting a faint rainbow halo.

In this quiet and oppressive environment, a slender figure gradually emerged. Her figure was looming in the hazy mist. She was wearing a dark robe, the folds of which showed a slight sheen, forming a sharp contrast with the short sword she grasped in her hand.

The blade of the dagger was slightly curved, and the golden light reflected a dazzling brilliance under the morning light, almost illuminating her way forward.

——That is the Blade Gold, which can easily strip away the body, soul and spirit.

She didn't look back, her eyes as still as the abyss. Her only support was the sword and the rhythm of her steps. She walked slowly but steadily, her heels sometimes sinking into the wet mud and sometimes being splashed by muddy water, but her pace remained unwavering. She had waited at the edge of the swamp long before, and she had no doubts about the task ahead. She was one of the closest to the temple, and with no villagers around, the solitude and silence of the swamp provided her with the perfect cover.

"Gray..." she whispered softly, her voice as light as a feather, with a faint tremor. Her eyes fell on the deep swamp in the distance, where she last saw Gray from a distance.