“Magical Research Experimental Group”
It was a small group of only around thirty people; it was the squad that destroyed Agnes’ village.
She flipped through several pages; all the members were nobles.
That guy too? There were names recorded in there that shocked her.
Agnes bit her lips hard, and carefully read through each page. To her dismay, quite a number of these members were already dead.
Reading though it, Agnes was so surprised that she widened her eyes… Immediately following that, her expression became distorted by hatred and displeasure.
This was because the page regarding the leader of the squad was ripped off. It was clear who did this… Yet there was no way to find out who was their leader now.
Unable to find out about the most sinful man;
Agnes’s body began to tremble.
In the town of Rosais, which would require two days horse ride from the capital of Albion, Londinium, a group of dangerous looking men appeared.
It included a man with a big patch of burn scars on the side of his face… A squad led by Menvil. It was just a small squad with about ten people, but the pressuring aura they gave off was comparable to a large squad of heavily armed spearmen.
The leather coats they wore were filled with stains, showing what experienced mercenaries they were. Under the coat, each of them were probably holding onto their weapons. As to what their weapons were, it was really hard to guess.
The group came to a smelting stove at an air force factory near the countryside. It was a smelting stove charged with melting metal to make cannon balls, but now the technicians were all trying hard to come up with strategies. This was because the temperature of the stove could not be increased any further; lead was still okay, but its current low temperature could melt metal.
“Boss…”
“There's not enough coal, and the wind is weak. What a headache… We must get a hundred cannon balls ready by the afternoon…”
The nagging chats of the technicians could be heard.
Right at that moment, opposite the direction Menvil’s squad was traveling in, a bunch of trolls appeared. Trolls are humanoids that reside at the northern highlands of Albion, and they can be as tall as five men.
Even though their numbers weren’t great, they possessed a strong desire for battle. War between humans was not their concern. However, they would be able to use clubs to beat their most hated humans into human paste as much as they want, so they participated in this war as well.
Indeed, they made for reliable comrades. Because of their huge size, they were very useful in a siege. Yet they always act arrogant and almighty no matter where they go, so human soldiers hate them very much. And they always defy orders and act on their own, so no matter how strong of a force they were, there were a lot of commanding officers who were unable to handle them.
Speaking of which, for trolls like these to gather and move forward in a group of around twenty, it looked like a large forest sprinting ahead. The technicians and marines hurriedly ran to the sides, letting this group of trolls pass.
The trolls gave off a voice like a tsunami from their thick, rough throats, looking at the humans running and hiding at their feet. They opened their mouths wide, their breathing sounded like a gigantic bellows moving up and down. They were mocking all those small and helpless humans.
This group of trolls stopped in their tracks.
That was because a human stood in their path, the group led by Menvil. There is a human brave enough to stand in our path? The trolls found it hard to believe.
The trolls vibrated their throats like bellows and growled for some time.
“What is that bunch of useless things nagging about?”
Menvil asked, looking disgusted. Standing beside him, a man with piercing eyes spoke up to report to their leader.
“They are saying 'move aside'.”
Menvil ordered his subordinate who could understand Troll language,
“Tell them, this land belongs to humans.”
His subordinate said a few lines in Troll language. Once the sentence left his mouth, the Trolls agitatedly raised their spiked hammers in their hands.
There was a piece of metal even larger than a cannonball at the tip of the spiked hammer, something so strong it could even smash a solid castle wall in one blow.
To be hit directly by that thing, a human stood no chance of survival.
“Hey, what did you say to them?” Menvil asked.
“Err… Buru, Shubu, Toru, Uuru… Oh shit, I made a mistake. This is the worst insult possible, I am sorry.”
“So, that's the reason.” Menvil replied.
One of the furious Trolls aimed at the group and sent his spiked hammer crashing down.
Menvil used his left hand to lift his coat taking out the weapon inside; it was a long, coarse metal rod. He used his right hand to hold the metal rod, waving it lightly.
And then he chanted a spell.
A bunch of flames flew off from the metal rod and wrapped around the Troll's right arm holding the spiked hammer.
In the blink of an eye, that flame melted the Troll’s arm together with the spiked hammer. The metal pieces that were heated red flew off in all directions, but the man beside Menvil carried out a spell-chant, and used Wind magic.
A small tornado engulfed the melted metal, and wrapped it onto the faces of the Trolls. The red metal scorched their skins and they gave off painful mourns.
The fire emerging from the tip of the wand became even stronger.
Their surroundings became a sea of flames just like that.
The smell of burnt Trolls spread around.
Under the light from the flames, Menvil revealed a cruel smile. He stared straight at the Trolls that were rolling around in pain.
Several minutes later--
Menvil and gang stepped onto the carbonized Trolls and moved on.
“Oh my, what an unbearable stench.”
One of the group members complained.
“What are you talking about?” Menvil said.
“This sweet scent of a living thing burnt to the very end… Is something normal perfume cannot compare with… The best smell there can be.”
Stunned, the technicians shivered as they watched how the Trolls were burned. The Trolls’ bodies were mixed with melted metal pieces. Those were the spiked hammers that the Trolls had in their hands originally.
“Who are those people...? This is steel. To not even need a wind box or stove to melt them…”
On a destroyer not far from here, Wardes and Fouquet were standing on the deck, waiting impatiently for the arrival of the “goods”.
“It is fifteen minutes past the agreed time. Gee, for someone who cannot even follow time strictly, can they really initiate an operation as tight as a pinhole? This is an occupation assignment, a very troublesome job.”
“Menvil the 'White Flame,' is very well known among mercenaries. It is rumored that he is cruel, sly… and very powerful.”
“No matter, it is hard to have a good impression of someone who came late.”
As the two chatted about this, they saw Menvil and his men finally reaching them.
A ladder was let down from the destroyer’s deck.
Menvil and gang climbed up the ship with a burnt meat smell.
“You people, what did you burn before coming over?”
“Just around twenty Trolls.”
Menvil replied as if it were nothing. Hearing him say that, Fouquet’s face went pale.
Everyone gathered at the room specially prepared for military conferencing to discuss the details of their operation.
The main objective of this operation was to occupy the Academy of Magic.
Cromwell planned to take the students hostage and use them as bartering chips, so as to negotiate with the two countries that were allying to attack.