Chapter 313 – 313: London, The Welcoming Party

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Altrouge knew very well that the Barthomeloi’s Canticle Brigade army had been wiped out during their clash in Tours.

The ones who had returned to the Clock Tower headquarters in England were all familiars Haru had created from the corpses of the Canticle Brigade members, right before her eyes, using some unknown method.

So, for the Barthomeloi family to suddenly allow the magical world’s news agencies under their control to disseminate such news—it was obvious they were up to no good.

That was why she’d brought the newspaper straight to Haru to ask.

“The alliance between the Church, which I represent, and your faction of Dead Apostle Ancestors has made the old geezers at the Mage’s Association a little antsy,” Haru shrugged, speaking with perfect composure.

“Oh? So, what’s their aim? War or peace talks?” Altrouge narrowed her eyes slightly, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards into a bloodthirsty grin.

Having spent half her life in a cycle of pursuit and counter-pursuit, Altrouge never shied away from a fight. If Haru gave the word for war, she’d probably mobilize her Dead Apostle army and launch a preemptive strike immediately.

“Right now, the only thing we can confirm is that the Barthomeloi, the Atlas Institute—who only sent one representative—and the Wandering Sea are willing to talk,” Haru said, rubbing his chin as he relayed the intel gathered by the Canticle Brigade’s probing.

This was largely because the Canticle Brigade’s activities were confined to the Barthomeloi’s sphere of influence.

The information about the Atlas Institute and the Wandering Sea had only come to light because some Canticle Brigade members had been assigned to accompany Lorelei to her meetings with representatives from those two factions.

“As for Kayneth, my spy in the Clock Tower, he’s only reported that, on the surface, all the nobles he’s contacted have expressed a willingness to negotiate. But, who knows if those scheming bastards are actually speaking their minds—” Haru shrugged, his tone dismissive.

“In that case, there’s an eighty percent chance they’ll opt for peace talks,” Altrouge said slowly after a moment of thought, lowering her head and lightly biting her index finger.

In her memory, the members of the Mage’s Association were all maniacs obsessed with reaching the Root.

If it were a path to the Root, they’d probably all be chomping at the bit for war.

However, this situation was tense because of the alliance between the Holy Church and her Dead Apostle faction. For a war that clearly wouldn’t help them reach the Root, the Magi would definitely lack interest.

So, the possibility of peace talks was indeed quite high.

“The location? Where are the talks being held?” Altrouge lifted her head, her crimson eyes reflecting Haru’s face.

“England—London. Those cowardly old geezers are so desperate they’d rather concede a huge amount of benefits, even let the Barthomeloi family lose face, just to lock down that location,” Haru said with a smirk.

“Hah? …You’re right. Those old bastards really are that afraid of dying.” Altrouge paused, a look of realization dawning on her.

Many of the current Twenty-Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors were Magi who had changed their race out of fear of death—let alone the Dead Apostles whose bloodlines were inferior to the Ancestors.

It was safe to say that a large portion of the old monsters pulling the strings behind the Clock Tower were long-lived Dead Apostles. For them, as long as they could live to pursue the Root, race, dignity—everything could be discarded.

“So, you’re planning to attend the conference at the Clock Tower?” Altrouge picked up a nearby cushion, hugging it to her chest as she spoke softly.

“That’s right. But I’ll definitely take some precautions. I’m not about to waltz right into their headquarters like an idiot—” Haru nodded.

“When, exactly?” Altrouge asked softly, squeezing the cushion.

“Kayneth is already on his way with the invitation. He should arrive in Tours within two days, I reckon?” Haru leaned back on the sofa, looking lazy.

“So, who’s going with you? …Damn, Strout and Blood still need another month to recover, and there’s still Gransurg’s and Trhvmn’s territory and forces to take over…” Altrouge frowned slightly; her recent affairs seemed a bit overwhelming.

Altrouge pondered for a moment, then continued, “How about Fou…”

“Let Arcueid come with me,” Haru interjected, his expression calm.

“Huh?” Altrouge blinked, then a teasing expression spread across her face. Letting her clueless little sister go to London alone with this big bad wolf…

“Is there a problem?” Haru asked, his face perfectly composed.

Altrouge sighed, a look of resignation on her face.

“…Fine. Even if I didn’t allow it, you’d find opportunities to spirit her away anyway. So be it.”

——

Rumble—!

A private jet, a tad smaller than a commercial airliner, slowly touched down at London Heathrow International Airport.

“Move, move, move! The jet’s landing! Get ready to greet them—now!” Chad barked into a communicator that looked suspiciously like a clamshell phone, his voice tight with urgency.

“What’s the status on clearing out unauthorized personnel from the airport?”

“Report! Civilians have been cleared. Uncooperative mages have been… relocated to the sewers.”

“Good. Have the barrier team deploy the bounded field. Stay alert!”

“Yes, sir!”

Just as Chad was about to lower the communicator, another male voice crackled through. “Sir, we’ve taken care of all the troublemakers in the Clock Tower—broke a few legs. They won’t be going anywhere for at least three days.”

“Excellent work. Make sure Lady Barthomeloi keeps her cool. The VIP has arrived.”

Chad pocketed the communicator, straightened the collar of his black suit, and, once satisfied with his impeccable appearance, strode purposefully towards the now stationary private jet.

——

“Whoa!” Arcueid, knees propped on her seat, bounced her slender, pale legs excitedly.

“Arcueid, we’re here.” Haru, seated beside her, lowered the magazine he’d been reading and casually looped an arm around her slim waist, pulling her back into her seat.

“Haru, look, look! London’s changed so much!” Arcueid’s face lit up with an innocent, childlike grin. She tugged at Haru’s arm, pointing out the towering skyscrapers beyond the window.

“Well, it’s the modern world. Things change every three years or so,” Haru explained gently, his expression softening at her dazzling smile.

“Every three years? Then since the last time I was here, it’s changed… 137 times!” Her crimson eyes flickered, and Arcueid pouted, a hint of dissatisfaction on her face.

“Regretting missing out on all the changes?” Haru raised an eyebrow, looking at the pouting Arcueid with a touch of exasperation.

“I’ll take you shopping after the meeting,” Haru said with a light chuckle, gently ruffling Arcueid’s silky smooth, golden hair.

“Hey!” Arcueid instinctively shook her head, her golden locks dislodging his hand and tumbling into a messy tangle.

She glanced at her disheveled hair, then glared up at Haru, her pretty face flushed with a hint of annoyance. “So mean! You know I’m still not used to long hair, Haru!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Haru said, though the laughter in his eyes suggested he wasn’t repentant in the slightest.

It seemed that ever since the concept of her eight-hundred-years-lost long hair had returned, Arcueid hadn’t quite adjusted to the flowing locks, making her hair a rather… sensitive spot.

Thanks to that, Haru, having accidentally discovered this after a bit of playful tousling, had become rather fond of the adorable pout and slight blush that appeared on her face whenever he messed with her hair.

“Alright, I’ll forgive you—since you’re taking me shopping.” Arcueid stood up, grabbing Haru’s arm, her face alight with excitement. “Let’s go, let’s go! Hurry, let’s get off the plane!”

“I said after the meeting. Patience, Arcueid. Good things come to those who wait,” Haru said, letting her pull him along towards the cabin door.

——

Buzz—!

A stretch Lincoln glided out of the airport, flanked by an escort of motorcycle police, heading slowly towards the outskirts of London.

The Clock Tower headquarters, hidden in the London suburbs by potent concealment magic, looked almost indistinguishable from an normal university campus.

And right now, at the university gate—the disguise—Lorelei stood, her face a mask of indifference, surrounded by a contingent of Canticle members, her gaze fixed on the distance.

Lorelei was wearing a deep blue, strapless evening gown.

Her trademark brown ponytail was gone, her hair now flowing down to her waist, adding a touch of softness to her usually stern, pretty features.

Her long, well-toned legs, a product of rigorous physical training, looked almost unnaturally pale, as if they’d never seen the light of day.

Her toes were currently encased in a pair of delicate, dainty high heels. After standing for a while, likely unaccustomed to such footwear, Lorelei’s legs began to tremble faintly.

“Why… why do I have to wear this getup and wait for that guy?” Lorelei’s face was rigid, her voice cold as she addressed a nearby Canticle member.

The strapless gown left her shoulders bare to the chill wind, the fabric clinging to her slender, snow-white frame, exuding an air of aristocratic elegance. And then there was the light foundation and lipstick on her face.

Earlier, after finishing her makeup and looking in the mirror, Lorelei had been surprised to discover that her usually tomboyish self could actually look… quite feminine.

For a moment, her mood had inexplicably brightened.

But now, the thought that this elaborate getup was all to welcome someone she utterly detested had replaced that fleeting pleasure with a simmering volcano of rage.

Just then, several students emerged from a nearby academic building. One of them turned, his eyes widening in shock as he spotted the group at the gate.

“Huh, isn’t that Lady Barthomeloi?”

“…Holy hell, it really is. Did the Holy Church declare war or something? Why is the Ice Queen dressed like that?”

“No way, that’s gotta be a look-alike, right? There’s no way that stone-faced woman would ever dress up like this.”

“Hey, hey, those dozen or so people standing there are all members of the Canticles clone brigade, aren’t they? Who else would they be surrounding but the Queen herself?”

As the whispers grew, Lorelei’s expression darkened.

“Why weren’t these apprentices cleared out today?”

“Lady Barthomeloi, the meeting begins tomorrow, and the other party requested a tour of the Clock Tower. Therefore, the apprentices were not dispersed,” A Canticle member behind Lorelei explained, his head bowed, his tone serious.

The apprentices’ murmurs drew more onlookers, and soon a crowd had gathered, all staring curiously at the main gate.

Feeling their gazes—some shocked, some curious, some openly mocking—Lorelei’s face turned as black as the bottom of a pot.

A miniature whirlwind began to form in her hand, and she spun around, ready to strike.

“Please, Lady Barthomeloi, don’t be rash,” a low voice came from the Canticle members behind her.

“…Don’t worry. I’ll just ‘disperse’ those apprentices, then come back and wait for him,” Lorelei said, her voice devoid of emotion.

“That won’t be necessary, milady. He’s already here—”

Lorelei’s pupils contracted. She whirled back around.

At the far end of the street, directly opposite the school gate, a V-formation of motorcycle police led a stretch Lincoln, slowly approaching.

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