Alchemy Principles of Type-Moon World

After looking at the remaining outline, I think I can finish this volume in about two weeks. I also want to finish more, but I spend the morning in the library reading books, do a few hours of exercises in the afternoon, and come back to sit in front of the computer at night to write 4,000 to 5,000 words. It's really the limit. Sorry.

Volume 27: The Kyoto Holy Grail War Without Nagging: 27. You will die at the age of

Ryosuke folded his arms, huddled quietly in a corner of the livehouse. The cold outside was piercing his face like a knife, yet the heat inside was stifling, sweat dripping down his forehead. The air was filled with a nauseating, chaotic smell, a mixture of sweaty people and the sour smell of cheap beer.

The novice band on stage were playing an original song, seemingly filled with passion. Unfortunately, this enthusiasm didn't carry over to the audience. The drummer's rhythm was haphazard, like a headless fly, wandering between each measure, unsure of where to land. The guitarist, eyes closed, bobbed his head, seemingly lost in his own world. Even the notes on his fingers were detached from the melody, dancing in the air in isolation. The bassist's fingers struggled over the strings, almost using all his strength to try to save the band from collapse, but his poor technique was clearly insufficient, and each note sounded labored and pale.

As for the lead singer? His voice was broken.

The arrangement of the whole song is quite boring. The prelude is bland like a pool of stagnant water. The riff of the verse lacks tension. I, II adjacent to the mix ~ Erling kH seven 罒⒏ is so calm that it makes people drowsy. There is nothing memorable. The chorus has not even had time to come out and it is drowned by the saliva melody of the verse.

When the chorus finally began, the melody felt strangely familiar. Ryosuke frowned, vaguely sensing a resemblance to a popular song. It was just that the band seemed to haven't considered the key of the piece, seemingly cribbing the chord progression from a song they found appealing. The audience seemed impatient. Aside from a few who were offering their support, their attention had long since wandered away from the stage. The few performers on stage seemed oblivious to the stalemate and continued to perform with all their might.

Ryosuke sighed softly. He hadn't originally planned to come, but Sakura-sensei's kindness made it hard to refuse. The air around him grew increasingly hot and humid, a suffocating feeling of oppression filling the air.

The novice band finally finished their performance. While the audience's response was lukewarm, with only scattered applause and a few whistles, they seemed unfazed, their faces still brimming with the excitement of their performance. The drummer wiped his sweat vigorously, the guitarist waved to the audience, and then they hurried off the stage with a quick bow. Ryosuke could sense the passion still surging in their hearts.

For the next few minutes, the lights on the stage dimmed. Ryosuke looked around bored, watching the audience members chatting quietly in groups of three or four. Some simply turned and walked towards the bar counter, clearly not expecting much from the upcoming performance. Rumor had it that the next band was a free-for-all, without even a drummer, and sounded unremarkable. Ryosuke couldn't help but yawn, his eyelids feeling heavy, and decided to move, taking advantage of this opportunity to leave the livehouse.

However, just as he turned around, he suddenly heard a low guitar sound from the stage. He subconsciously looked back and saw the Berserker master and servant coming on stage.

The young man on stage was adjusting the tone calmly and skillfully, clearly well-versed in this environment. However, since he didn't bring his own pedalboard, he had to borrow the pedalboard of the guitarist who had just left the stage. After adjusting, he gently plucked the strings and nodded with satisfaction.

Before Ryosuke could even think, the two on stage began their performance without warning. They didn't even introduce themselves; only the abrupt strumming of strings pierced the air, striking everyone's eardrums like a bolt of lightning. Ryosuke paused, about to leave, but the sudden, shocking sound gripped him. He could feel the sound waves rising from the floor, passing through him.

--------------

"Change of plans, bro," Alex noticed the cold atmosphere in the audience the moment he took the stage. He glanced at the audience, "The place isn't getting lively, it's all dead wood."

"I'll adjust the pedals, brother, come and warm up the stage—"

Cobain stood aside, nodding gently as he plugged the guitar into his guitar. He glanced at the audience, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips. Then, he launched into a dazzling solo, his fingertips dancing across the strings, the surging sound pressure sweeping out like a hurricane, instantly shattering the dullness and indifference in the air.

This sudden change seemed to ignite something, and the audience was finally stirred. Some people began to applaud unconsciously, while others waved their beer bottles and cheered loudly. Ryosuke couldn't help but hold his breath. He could feel the atmosphere of the live house change drastically in just a few seconds.

There was no need for people who came to warm up the audience, nor was there any need for humorous self-introductions to raise the audience's expectations. Just an impromptu solo of just a few seconds, the emotions conveyed through the musical phrases in his hands ignited the enthusiasm of the entire audience.

Seeing this, Alex nodded slightly in satisfaction, then moved closer to the microphone. Since Cobain was unable to speak, he had no choice but to let him be the lead singer.

"——As long as passion is ignited, even dead wood can spring back to life." His voice, deep and clear, rang through the speakers, echoing in everyone's ears. "The first song is 'Come As You Are'."

Ryosuke recognized the piece that was being played, and thus realized the musical style it represented.

Grunge, grunge rock/oil rock, is difficult to describe as a specific rock style, especially after it became mainstream, it lost its original connection with the rebellion and anger of punk.

Ryosuke looked around. The livehouse was small and cramped, the air thick with the smell of damp mold and the scent of sweat. The mottled paint on the walls had long since peeled off, revealing the aged bricks beneath. A few dim light bulbs hung from the ceiling, emitting a slight hum from time to time.

There was no glamorous stage, no dazzling lighting effects, and certainly none of the graceful vocals and smooth melodies typically associated with rock concerts. The young people on stage played with a rather pale, unabashedly rough quality, a raw, uninhibited quality. The lead singer's singing style was essentially a direct scream. The unadorned tones of the twin guitars sliced through his eardrums like a knife, brutal and direct, with no regard for the audience's feelings.

But why? Why did this seemingly chaotic musical style sweep the world ten years ago? To the point where Kurt Cobain's "Nevermind" even surpassed Michael Jackson in sales, becoming the number one album in the US.

And now, ten years later, in such a small and cramped basement, it swept everyone, the audience's reaction became gradually intense, a fanatical atmosphere quickly spread, and some audiences simply raised the beer in their hands high, shaking it with the rhythm, and the beer overflowed from the bottle and spilled onto the floor, mixing with the already messy footprints on the ground.

Ryosuke didn't understand. He didn't understand why such hoarse and rough music had such a large audience.

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Alex stood on the stage, his voice hoarse and he could feel every bit of pain in the back of his throat.

His eyes swept over the crowd in front of him who were enthusiastic about his music, and a trance-like light flashed in his eyes. He turned his head slightly and his eyes fell on Cobain who was playing beside him. He was holding a left-handed Fender Jaguar 1965 in his hand. The paint on the guitar was a little mottled, and it was a second-hand one.

Alex finally bought the piano after spending all his savings from the past few days, borrowing some money from some new Japanese friends he had made, and with the help of the piano store owner who offered a discount.

As for the money needed for the performance, they actually didn't spend any money at all. It was the Livehouse owner who relented and asked the two bands who were performing today to let them use the stage for free during the performance.

The previous band to perform was a group of students, and he had taught their guitarist during his free time. The next band to perform was one for whom he had also subbed in once, replacing the guitarist who had been beaten by his girlfriend and ended up in the hospital. Therefore, he was able to get into their venue without any problems and without spending a dime.

He took a deep breath, looking at the small livehouse and the audience packed inside. It was as if he himself from a few years ago appeared before his eyes. Back then, he, like those in the audience, was immersed in the tide of grunge, wavering between pain and anger. For someone like him who had come to terms with the emptiness in his heart, the only real thing was the anger and pain boiling in his throat.

He remembered the suicide note he wrote ten years ago.

——For a guy like him who has been disappointed with society and despaired of himself, commercial rock music cannot resonate with him. Only Grunge can bring him some comfort and a little redemption.

Why did he suddenly recall these past memories at this moment? Alex was a little confused. He glanced at the audience again, feeling their emotional fluctuations -

He remembered the suicide note he wrote five years ago.

——I see, because everyone here is just like me.

Alex's mind flashed back to what his agent had once told him. He'd find his answer in Japan, he'd see the popularization of rock music. But in this cramped basement, in those feverish, tormented eyes, he saw people like himself. He saw those struggling on the margins of society, those who, like him, felt the same suffocation of reality.

The guitar in his hands, under his control, ripped out a series of furious chords, the sound harsh and piercing, yet also carrying an indescribable infectious power. A musical phrase is a direct expression of the musician's emotions; a musician trapped by sheet music might as well switch to arranging software.

He understood at that moment that he, Cobain, and every single person in the audience resonated with one another. The anger and despair, the judgment and repentance for the original sin in his bloodline—only by venting it through music could his soul find some relief.

He remembered the suicide note he wrote three years ago.

But even so, he still survived and has lived to this day.

The performance ended. Alex stood on the stage, his left hand still firmly on the strings, his fingertips almost white with pressure, suppressing the final note on the neck, preventing it from vibrating even a little. He turned off the speakers and glanced down at the guitar in his hands. Although he had only played two songs, he was very satisfied.

He turned the volume knob on his guitar to zero and unplugged the audio cable. Just as he turned around to say his final bow to the audience, his heart suddenly sank, as if something had been torn apart. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his chest, as if the magic power in his body was being rapidly drained away like a flood, causing his body to sway slightly. He subconsciously turned his head to look at Cobain beside him.

In the dim light, he saw Cobain's face turn pale and gloomy, beads of sweat oozing from his forehead. He noticed a small amount of blood on Cobain's chest, slowly seeping out, staining his worn T-shirt. In that moment, Alex's mind went blank. His brain froze. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't. Even the words he had prepared for the closing ceremony were stuck in his throat, unable to utter.

The Noble Phantasm was released, but why was it released under such circumstances?

Cobain didn't give Alex much time to think. He steadied himself and took the microphone from him without hesitation.

"Next up, the last song, 'Smells Like Teen Spirit.'"

Why "Smells Like Teen Spirit"? Wait, did Cobain just speak? Alex's mind was in a tizzy. This song was Cobain's most famous hit, but Alex knew that Cobain had mixed feelings about it, even aversion. To Cobain, the song symbolized the mainstreaming and commercialization he once hated the most, the kind of success that was labeled.

but why……

“Come on, man,” Cobain said. He bent down to pick up the dropped audio cable and handed it to Alex. “Sing one last song with me. I’ll sing this time.”

Alex looked at Cobain, his fingers trembling slightly. Finally, without asking any questions, he took the audio cable and plugged it back into his guitar.

--------------

Alex struggled to place Cobain's arm over his shoulders and, with a gentle push, lifted him up. Having just finished their performance, they didn't pause, simply greeting the audience before hurriedly leaving the stage. Alex's steps were heavy, his breathing a little rapid. Cobain's body slumped limply against him, completely drained of all strength. The two stumbled towards the back door of the livehouse, the air thick with the suffocating smell of sweat and alcohol.

Pushing open the heavy iron door, Alex felt a gust of cold wind rushing across his face, chilling him to the bone. He paused briefly to catch his breath, then continued, dragging Cobain with him outside. The street outside was dark and silent, lit only by a few flickering streetlights.

Just as he was about to step out of the Livehouse, a figure suddenly appeared in front of them. Alex stopped abruptly and glanced at the other person with alertness.

A figure dressed like a ninja stood in the shadow of a streetlight, his expression grim. He was tall and lean, like a falcon poised to swoop down on its prey. His dark blue ninja uniform tightly hugged his sturdy frame, the fabric gleaming faintly in the dim light. His shoulders and chest were covered in armor, gleaming like a cold metal in the dim light.

Alex narrowed his eyes and was about to drag Cobain aside to avoid a conflict with the man. However, the man spoke first.

"Domo, nice to meet you, Berserker-san." He clasped his hands together and bowed slightly to Alex. "Hattori Hanzo Desu."

"Greetings are actually important, etiquette is actually important!" Hattori Hanzo said calmly, his eyes fixed on Alex, as if waiting for something. Finally, he shook his head with a hint of disappointment, "But it's just Mortal, it's not disrespectful."

Alex still didn't respond, but just adjusted Cobain's weight slightly, his fingers tightening slightly on his waist, ready to deal with any possible conflict at any time.

"I have been ordered by Lord Ieyasu to take Servant Berserker's life. It was not my intention to abruptly interrupt your performance just now. I hope you will forgive me." Hattori Hanzo's tone remained calm. He lowered his gaze to gaze at Coben's face, observing his condition. He nodded with satisfaction, "Since your spirit core has been completely shattered, there is no need to continue fighting."

"If the bird doesn't sing, wait for it to sing. Lord Ieyasu also said so." Hattori Hanzo muttered some strange proverb and turned away. "Well, I'm going to have some precious sushi time."

Hattori Hanzo's judgment was actually accurate. Even while performing on stage, Kurt Cobain's spirit core had been completely shattered by his nameless flying kunai. He was only able to hold on until now, relying solely on the power of his Noble Phantasm.

Choose to leave the last time to the master and servant, oh, Hanzo = san, actual mercy!

Alex gritted his teeth and used his shoulders to support Cobain's shaky body. He could feel his companion's vitality slipping away bit by bit, like sand in his hand. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop it from flowing away.

"Next," Hattori Hanzo suddenly said, his voice remarkably clear in the empty streets, "Kyoto at midnight will become the starting point of a magnificent battle."

"You who have lost Servant Berserker (Seventh) Age VIII) Wu Xi Liu Ba Qi Ni, you should go home as soon as possible!"

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The next chapter will start to enter the climax, probably like this

As for this pair, there will be another scene at the end, but they have already completely left the stage.

That's about it. The above is a new book by a new author. Please give me some feedback. Thanks.

Volume 28: The Kyoto Holy Grail War Without a Nagging Message: . The Last Hours

Winter in Kyoto was shrouded in a chill. Though not a single snowflake fell, the air was filled with a chilly, dry air. Inside Nijo Castle's main hall, the gray-brown wooden pillars and ceiling contrasted with the still sky. Faint light filtered through the windows, casting a shadow on the intricately carved wooden floorboards, revealing their ancient textures. The hall was empty and silent, with only the occasional breeze brushing against the paper doors, bringing a hint of chill.

"General, all civil servants in Kyoto have changed their names to the Tokugawa family crest," Fujiwara no Shigenobu reported, kneeling beside Tokugawa Ieyasu. His voice was steady and respectful, yet a hint of nervousness could be seen.

Tokugawa Ieyasu sat on the main seat, wearing a thick crimson robe, his hands clasped lightly in his knees.

"Well, you go first." Tokugawa Ieyasu replied calmly, then yawned unconsciously, his voice low and long. "It's about time."

Fujiwara no Shigenobu bowed his head and slowly withdrew. He stood up carefully, fearing to disturb the general's deep thoughts. His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, known as the "Oriole Floor," with a crisp sound like the chirping of an oriole.

Tokugawa Ieyasu frowned slightly and turned his gaze to the old floor. "Really? Why don't they fix this floor? And they named it "Ori-Singing Floor"? It's so noisy."

The young man, who had been quietly sipping tea nearby, finally looked up with an embarrassed smile. "Hahaha... Actually, it was a technical issue back then..." he explained softly, trying to excuse the old floorboards. "It wasn't that loud originally, and since you don't usually live here, so..."

Tokugawa Ieyasu's eyes suddenly turned to the boy, his voice filled with accusation. "What? You came up with this stupid idea? You didn't come up with it in Tokugawa Ieyasu's name, did you?"

"Ah, actually it was the sake master who said that," he hesitated for a moment and said, "Didn't the sake master say, 'Instead of spending money on building wonders, it's better to give him the money to buy wine or something...'"

"Wasn't this place built after the Battle of Sekigahara? You're completely shirking responsibility. And how did you know this?!" Tokugawa Ieyasu shouted in dissatisfaction, "You're kidding me, you bastard!"

"You wrote it in your diary yourself..." The boy shrank his neck. "Besides, there wasn't any noise back then. I never thought no one had repaired the floor in these hundreds of years."

"Oh... forget it." Tokugawa Ieyasu waved his hand. "What happened to the Wheel of Seven Treasures?"

"I have been worshipping him," the young man replied respectfully. "Plus, now that the power of Kyoto is completely in the hands of the Tokugawa, I think it is time for the Tosho-jin to descend."

"It's just a change of clothes, how can it be said that the power has been transferred to Tokugawa?" Tokugawa Ieyasu said self-deprecatingly, "Lord Nobunaga will definitely laugh at me if he finds out."

"After all, it's the Demon King. He would definitely prefer to actually hold Kyoto in his hands." The boy thought for a moment and continued, "But this is completely sufficient. It's just a symbol after all."

"If you truly wish to have the Great Power of Tosho descend before the year 2000, and to guide this world in another direction before the cycle of elimination arrives—"

"——Can you please do the work yourself..." The boy couldn't help but complain in a low voice.

"I'll do it myself," Tokugawa Ieyasu replied casually, tapping his fingers lightly on his knees.

He stood up, walked to the window, pushed open half of the wooden window, and looked out at the courtyard. In the courtyard, the sandstone of the dry landscape had been polished smooth and white by time, and a few ancient pine trees swayed slightly in the cold wind.

"Before that, let Naomasa lead the Red Army to deploy near the nodes of the earth veins, and let the others clean up the other servants."

"Do you want Lord Zhongsheng to go out as well?"

"No, there's a tough spearman. By the way, tell Otomo Muneki to prepare for the collapse of the country." Tokugawa Ieyasu thought for a moment, then suddenly turned around and added, "By the way, tell the kitchen to make some more tempura and send it over."

"Aren't you tired of eating yet?!"

————————————————————————

Schrödinger stood in the center of the courtyard. The still air around him seemed frozen; even the wind had stopped. The sky was starless, covered only by a thick layer of dark clouds. A pitch-black darkness gradually engulfed the night. The shadows of the trees in the courtyard cast swaying silhouettes in the dim light.

"It's almost time," he whispered to himself, his voice remarkably clear in the still night. He slowly removed his glasses, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and carefully wiped the lenses. Then, he pulled a pocket watch from his pocket, the hands of which slowly moved across the dial. He glanced down at the time, the second hand ticking faintly in the silence.

"Two more minutes," Schrödinger sighed softly, his eyes never leaving the tiny pointer.

"If it's not completed before the foundation of human nature is completed, then there's nothing we can do." He whispered, his fingers gently stroking the surface of the pocket watch.

In two minutes, the world's first time zone will enter the millennium. The once-a-century probability calculation will begin. Twenty-four hours before the last time zone enters the millennium, a periodic summary of the results of the previous century "so far" will be conducted. Only worlds that can be guaranteed to survive for at least another hundred years will be allowed to continue.

If a parallel world is judged to be unnecessary, its future will be blocked, becoming a "pruning phenomenon" and thus being pruned away.

After these 24 hours, the Quantum Recording Belt will freeze history, eliminating any worlds that are no longer permitted to exist. Once history is fixed by the Quantum Recording Belt, it cannot be altered by conventional means.

"Let's take a gamble. If he can get the answer within 24 hours," Schrödinger thought silently in his heart, "the result will be fixed. The worst result is just a 'fixed phenomenon' -"

"—But as long as there's even a sliver of the possibility of becoming a 'compiled phenomenon,' that's enough."

The second and minute hands slowly overlapped on the dial, and time passed that crucial moment, as the world officially entered the new millennium. Schrödinger gently pushed his glasses up his nose, and the magical power dissipated, filling the air.

At the same time, across Kyoto's ley lines, shrines large and small, like resonating bells, instantly and synchronously released the same magical energy fluctuations. This kind of action at a distance is impossible in the macroscopic world. Any material carrying information and energy is subject to the limitations of local realism when propagating through a propagator (a medium). This means that any event occurring at a distance cannot affect events in another area at superluminal speeds. This principle is precisely revealed by the theory of relativity.

However, what if we compare this to quantum entanglement in the microscopic world? While this superluminal phenomenon might seem explainable at the microscopic level, it's still impossible. The reason is that quantum entanglement doesn't involve a propagator. In other words, there's no tangible matter moving at superluminal speeds, and thus no information or energy can be carried. Therefore, it doesn't violate relativity.

Since the measurement results of the entangled state are random, even if the states of the two entangled particles are correlated, any attempt to transfer information through this correlation will also fail.

However, Schrödinger's current operation was a complete magic trick. He did not describe the properties of any individual target, but rather the overall properties of the entire system. His magic had already penetrated and controlled the nodes responsible for regulating the spiritual veins in every shrine, tightly connecting them together.

The so-called super-distance phenomenon is nothing more than the result of him shooting the arrow first and then drawing the target, that is, he first obtained the information of the entire space and then obtained the solution to the equation.

However, the theory he relied on was originally designed to describe the microscopic world, and macroscopic quantum superpositions do not exist in the macroscopic world. Typically, macroscopic systems quickly lose their quantum superpositions due to decoherence, where the interaction between the quantum system and its environment causes the superposition state to "collapse" into a classical state.

However, Schrödinger's Noble Phantasm can temporarily break this limitation, extending quantum phenomena from the microscopic world to the macroscopic scale, allowing phenomena that should be limited to the microscopic level to manifest in the macroscopic world. In theory, this is not impossible, as long as the influence of the environment is temporarily blocked or offset.

In other words, at this moment, Schrödinger's cat is no longer a thought experiment, but has really become a cat in a macroscopic quantum superposition state that exhibits microscopic characteristics in the macroscopic world.

Schrödinger's magic power silently spread along Kyoto's earth veins, completely enveloping the ancient city. If Xing Qingfeng could observe the entire magical structure of Kyoto from a higher dimension, he would find that the magical environment Schrödinger created was exactly the same as the magical field he had previously created in the London cemetery.

——In this haunted place of Kyoto, Schrödinger constructed a magical environment near the earth veins that allowed the existence of a large number of spirits, and created a large number of vessels that allowed the descent of spirits.