NABC Page 621
Page 621
He and his ally, Aozaki Touko, who was equally well-versed in the cruel laws of the magic world and skilled in calculation, had already conducted repeated, cold deductions and discussions about this matter.
The consensus reached by the two was: Albion's awakening, the descent of the gods, and the shocks that followed...
Although it was extremely dangerous, it did not pose a fundamental threat to Matou Ike, a man of unfathomable strength who pursued the "interlocking of the gears of time".
In fact, this enormous crisis itself may be the "opportunity" or "sharpening stone" necessary for him to achieve his goal.
Based on this cold-blooded cost-benefit analysis, they finally decided to leave it at that and let Matouchi face the raging storm.
Nothing more than...
El-Melloi II's gaze swept over Matou Pond, carrying a complex emotion that was almost imperceptible, bordering on guilt.
It will only make things a little harder for Matou Ike...
Facing a "god" who is almost in perfect condition, carrying the power of the planet and the ability to conquer, the pressure, the danger, and the price to be paid are all extraordinary.
El-Melloi II took a deep drag on his cigar, letting the pungent smoke swirl in his lungs, as if gathering the courage to make his statement.
He met Matou Ike's amber-colored demonic eyes, which seemed to see through all illusions, and slowly spoke, his voice deep and clear:
"Regarding the Clock Tower... there are two key areas worth noting in the contingency plans made after the storm."
"Two?" Matou Ike raised an eyebrow, leaning forward, his languid demeanor completely replaced by sharp inquiry. The number was fewer than he had expected, and more concentrated.
King El-Melloi II nodded, the ash from his cigar falling silently from his fingertips:
“The first one,” he said, holding up one finger.
"It means organizing a special task force composed of elite magicians with extremely high exploration and survival capabilities, with their target being—the Fairy Realm."
He paused for a moment, then raised his second finger:
“The second one,” he said, his tone growing even colder, carrying a chilling, ruthless edge.
"It is a joint effort with the Holy Church to conduct an unprecedented and comprehensive crackdown and elimination of known dead apostle strongholds on the planet, especially those that pose a significant threat or may rise up amidst the chaos, in the shortest possible time."
Matou Ike listened quietly, her fingers unconsciously stroking her chin.
His fingers hovered on his chin, his gaze piercing El-Melloi II like lightning, his voice carrying a cold, almost interrogative, playful tone:
“So…” he deliberately drew out his words.
"The Clock Tower's initial strategy... or rather, in the face of this current global tsunami that has laid bare its mysteries to billions of ordinary people..."
He leaned forward slightly, and an invisible pressure spread out.
"...Is it that you have absolutely no intention of investing your main resources in 'managing' the mysterious leak itself that is causing endless chaos, panic, collapse of faith, and even social disintegration in the mortal world?"
Chapter 650 The Priest Who Smuggled Himself into London (4k)
That scene, like a brutal and blasphemous wedge, smashed into this simple, almost monotonous pastoral landscape.
A boneless iron block.
An existence that utterly disregards the laws of tranquility here.
It was a steel behemoth with a total mass of over thirty-five tons—a roaring, mobile fortress.
Its massive, angular steel frame, painted with a cold, matte finish, stood out starkly against the surrounding low farmhouses, winding fences, and fields exuding the scent of earth and grass.
Its brutal internal combustion engine roared deafeningly, a sound clearly not designed for such narrow, bumpy, gravel- and dirt-strewn country roads.
The headlights, like two scorching, sleepless demonic eyes, shot out two fierce beams of light in the deepening night, tearing through the darkness and startling the birds perched in the bushes.
Accompanied by the insatiable roar of the engine, and the teeth-grinding creaking sound coming from the huge cargo box being towed behind it.
The sound was dull and persistent, as if some living creature was imprisoned deep inside the cargo box, futilely scraping and ramming against the heavy steel cage with its sharp claws or heavy body.
This steel behemoth is rampaging across this land where it shouldn't exist, with an unreasonable and ruthless attitude.
Its name is "The Song of Mercy for Demons".
A title brimming with extreme irony and a chilling religious feel.
It was not an ark of salvation, but rather a vessel carrying a hammer, a cross, sophisticated medical equipment, and… an “exorcism device”—
Literally, it represents the pinnacle of esoteric mystical technology and is a state-of-the-art weapon platform specifically designed for "dealing with" non-human entities.
It is a walking court of judgment, a mobile purification furnace, a monster through and through, cloaked in "compassion".
In the short four days since it landed in London, this steel monster has strangely never really "attracted" anyone's attention.
Or rather, wherever it goes, it leaves behind only a crushed tranquility and silent fear, rather than effective eyewitness reports or the spread of panic.
Or perhaps it took advantage of the influence of Albion to sneak onto the ground.
However, what truly leaves any potential observer speechless with astonishment is not the suffocating oppression of "The Song of Mercy" itself.
But...
The "person" holding its steering wheel.
The stark contrast is almost absurd!
Sitting steadily in that menacing driver's seat, a symbol of pure mechanical violence and mysterious execution power, was actually a... priest!
And he wasn't the gloomy, fanatical judge one might imagine. This priest's face actually possessed an almost blinding, sun-like quality!
Golden hair, gentle features, and perhaps even a faint, unassuming, peaceful smile at the corners of his mouth.
This smile, coupled with the steel behemoth beneath him that was causing chaos and destruction on the country road, created a sharp and pervasive contradiction that could shatter one's understanding.
This sunny priest is wielding this "Song of Mercy for the Devil" with astonishing skill.
He paid no heed to the narrow country road, barely wide enough to fit the car, with tree branches scraping against the steel exterior and making a piercing noise, and ignored the inky darkness of the night, which was only torn open by the headlights.
His fingers rested on the thick steering wheel, his movements fluid and "habitual," as if he were driving an ordinary parish vehicle rather than a war machine.
The only thing he seemed to notice was an inconspicuous temperature display screen on the dashboard.
Temperature inside the cargo container.
It currently displays "Stable at room temperature".
But when the priest's gaze occasionally swept over it, his eyes, beneath that sunny smile, revealed a cold, undeniable wariness.
If... in the worst-case scenario... that number drops below 20 degrees Celsius...
The contingency plan was clear and ruthless: the cargo container had to be abandoned immediately, and the explosive device pre-installed in its structure had to be activated without hesitation to reduce it, along with everything inside, to dust.
Of course, this is definitely a "trouble that we would like to avoid as much as possible".
After all, who would willingly lose half of their beloved vehicle? Even if it's half carrying dangerous "cargo".
As for the claim that this steel behemoth barged in and disturbed the peace of the creatures in the fields?
Or, what if the "companion" in the cargo box that was making a "creaking" sound really did disappear without a trace along with the cargo box after an explosion, leaving not even a trace?
For these...
This sunny priest probably only needs a light, slightly regretful yet incredibly relaxed remark:
"Oh, what bad luck."
Then you can forget about it as easily and completely as brushing dust off your sleeve.
at this time--
"Shirou. Can you hear me?"
A voice suddenly rang out through the intercom connecting the cab and the cargo box.
The voice was calm, steady, and even had a metallic quality. It was devoid of any emotion, as if the speaker was in a constant environment that would not change even if burned by fire.
The priest raised an eyebrow slightly, and the sunny smile on his lips seemed to deepen for a moment.
Did my companions inside the cargo container sense my "reckless" thoughts about "abandoning the cargo container"? Or was it just a routine communication check?
He didn't delve into it, but simply used his free hand to easily turn on the switch to connect to the external communication line.
A faint buzzing sound of electricity rang out, awaiting the unknown voices coming from the outside world.
"Oh, hello. Shirou, I'm sorry. I'd like to place another order—"
A call, mixed with electrical noise, suddenly burst from the communicator without warning.
The only response was a heavy, painful sigh from the priest in the driver's seat, a sigh so deep it seemed capable of crushing steel. His sunny smile crumbled instantly, as if struck by an invisible hammer.
I've said it countless times! Gather all the necessary equipment at once before placing your order!
This principle is as fundamental as "God loves the world"!
But this woman...
She's always like this! Casually, impulsively, and repeatedly throwing out these extremely capricious additional demands!
"Thanks to her..."
Shirou's fingers unconsciously tightened, almost crushing the leather covering the steering wheel. The roar of the engine seemed to carry a hint of grief and indignation.
"...We haven't reached the work location yet!"
The itinerary was fragmented by these temporary purchasing points.
Oh dear, just think of the list of things we were forced to take detours along the way: grenades stuck to our backs, dozens of M60 ammunition boxes, and finally even some outdated "burial" stuff!
Completely disregarding the budget deficit and the passage of time, they stubbornly demanded that the stomach of this steel behemoth be filled!
The places you want to visit along the way naturally accumulate like a snowball!
however……
The priest's drooping lips twitched upwards very slowly and with great difficulty, and he put on that sunny mask again.
Only this woman would come up with such an insane shopping list.
As for what he could do for her...
"That's all there is to it," he muttered almost silently, with a sense of resignation mixed with a twisted sense of responsibility.
Personally portable small-caliber firearms? To deal with those ruthless criminals who can tear through steel with their bare hands and see bullets as nothing more than gnats?
The effect is negligible!
After all, those monsters are "flying men" who can see through the trajectory of bullets and dodge gracefully in the air!