After hearing the news from Heti, Gwen was not surprised at all. "That's to be expected … Well, it's about Typhon's foundation after all."
"It seems that the wolf general is not going to cooperate." Heti stood in front of Gwen's desk with a stack of documents in her hand. She had a serious expression on her face. "And … I think she's right. This is not a decision that a commander can make. Only Rosetta Augustus has the authority to make this kind of exchange."
"Of course, it's better to have a formal exchange of technology." Gwen smiled. "But this kind of exchange of technology is hard to come by in peacetime, let alone in this tense situation … Forget it, I'm just giving it a try. Andesha's rejection is within my expectations."
Hao Ren could not help but sigh. Choosing Bard as the middleman to contact Andesha was the right decision. If anyone else were to ask such a sensitive question, the wolf general's blood pressure would probably skyrocket, and they might even get into a fight. Leaving this matter to Bard was to prevent this from happening. In theory, even if the wolf general's blood pressure was skyrocketing, she should not get into a fight with her long-lost father …
Some irrelevant thoughts floated in his mind. Heti did not know what her ancestor was thinking, but she could see that Gwen was a little distracted. She could not help but cough softly to get Gwen's attention before she continued. "Currently, the 'mass production of Extraordinaires' plan is temporarily on hold. There are mainly two plans in progress. One is to continue to optimize the equipment and training methods of the psionic singers from a technical level, to find ways to reduce the burden on the users' nerves. The other is to start selecting suitable candidates from the mages, and convert some of the combat mages into psionic singers …"
"Besides that, Bertilla has also proposed a third plan."
"The third plan?" Gwen raised his eyebrows. "What's the specific plan?"
"This is the document from Solinburg. Bertilla has already drafted the draft," Heti said as she put the document in her hand on the table. The expression on her face was somewhat strange. "I took a look at it. How should I put it? She is indeed the former Dark Druil. This thing that she came up with … is quite challenging."
Gwen's curiosity was piqued. He took the document and opened its cover. On the first page of the document, a line of large letters came into view: "Application Prospects and Technical Points of Giant Wet Parts Nodes in the Field of Auxiliary Spellcasting". After this line of title, there was a line of smaller letters: "To avoid moral and ethical risks, all the wet parts in the plan are produced by the giant tree Sorin."
Gwen's eyes stayed on these words for a few seconds before he flipped to the rest of the document with a strange feeling. It was a technical plan with strict wording, detailed data, complete details, concise and easy to understand. It even looked like it had reached the practical stage.
Before he carefully read the contents of the plan, he could not help but marvel at Bertilla's professionalism as a technician. Back then, the All Things Scapegoat … The All Things Doomsday Cult was indeed the most cutting-edge biochemical technology in human history. Even if they were a dark cult, no one could deny that the top echelons of the cult were undoubtedly technical talents.
Such a technical document, not many of the top echelons of the Magitech Research Institute could come up with it.
After that, Gwen's attention was quickly drawn to the ideas mentioned in the document. He carefully read as he flipped until a vivid concept diagram appeared before his eyes.
A giant brain floating in the air, a dazzlingly complex neural connection plan, and a group of soldiers using artificial nerve cords to connect to the giant brain … Just as Heti said, the image challenged the acceptance of 'weird things'. The thing looked like a terrible product that could only be summoned in some evil religious ritual. Gwen felt that it was downright ridiculous. But this thing was used to protect the mind …
At the bottom of the image, Bertilla had specially marked a line of small words: A single psionic singer is just a normal soldier. A group of psionic singers is a complete psionic choir.
"That makes sense … provided that this thing is not so weird." Gwen could not help but mumble when he saw the line of small words. "A dozen people with nerve cords behind their heads flying around a floating brain at a low altitude over the battlefield. Where did this creepy scene come from …"
As he spoke, he quickly flipped through the diagram and continued to read the rest of the document. When he was about to reach the end, Heti asked, "Ancestor, what do you think of this plan?"
"To be honest, there is nothing wrong with it except that it's ugly. Bertilla has been in the dark cult for more than 700 years. Now I mainly wonder if her aesthetic sense has been completely destroyed. No, it doesn't matter. This plan is indeed valuable, except it's ugly." Gwen frowned with a rather troubled expression. "More importantly, we don't seem to have much time to waste now. We have to use everything that can be used as soon as possible … but it's still too ugly."
"Then …" Heti asked hesitantly, "What's your approval?"
"It's approved." Gwen glanced at the diagram again and sighed. "Bertilla said that most of the process of this plan can be completed by several chambers in the Thorin Tree. Since it won't take up the existing technical team and facility cost, it's okay to let her try it … but it's still a little ugly."
Heti noted down Gwen's instructions and put away the document with a blank expression. She felt that the ancestor might not be able to get over this hurdle …
At this moment, the magic net terminal beside the desk suddenly beeped and flashed, finally interrupting the nonsense in Gwen's mind. The latter quickly recovered from the shock of the technical document and quickly adjusted his expression before connecting the magic net terminal.
The terminal buzzed slightly, and then a clear holographic projection appeared in the air. Yuri's figure appeared in the projection. He bowed to Gwen with a serious expression on his face. "Your Majesty, we have found something in the process of analyzing Malcolm Dumont's spiritual fragments. We think it is necessary to report it to you."
"You are with Naretil?" Gwen blinked and his expression quickly turned serious. "What have you found?"
Yuri nodded and immediately began to report the clues that he, Magnum, Naretil, and the others had just found. Gwen listened attentively behind the desk. As Yuri continued to report, his expression became more and more serious.
…
Northwest of Typhon, the frontline of Winterwolf Fort. The air was still filled with a pungent smell. The waste energy produced by large-scale magic was wandering between the plains and the river valleys.
A few days ago, a heavy snow had briefly covered the scorching battlefield, burying the land destroyed and burned by the artillery and magic explosions. However, in the face of the flames of war, this comfort of nature was torn apart. None of the steel-forged war machines and fanatical soldiers enjoyed the winter snow. After a high-intensity battle, another piece of land was burned to ashes.
Cecil's men temporarily retreated. Typhon's following troops began to clean up the scorched land.
A Typhon officer, wearing a black light armor and a heavy coat, walked on the still scorching battlefield. The ground under his feet was muddy and cold. Cecil's explosives had overturned almost all the soil on the hill. Ugly black soil and broken stones were everywhere. Between the soil, there was black-red blood that had not yet solidified yet, or mixed with the remains of human bodies. Only a few corners of the hill still had some white snow. The white snow mixed with the black and red background was eye-catching to the point that it was somewhat dazzling.
The smell in the air was so pungent that it was nauseating. The officer had been on the battlefield for a long time, but the smell in the air was something he had never smelled anywhere else. It was not only the smell of blood, but also something more pungent.
The soldiers were busy around him. Some were sorting and retrieving the supplies that could still be used. Some were collecting the corpses that could still be collected. Some took out the prayer books that they carried with them and prayed to their respective gods. The officer frowned. He stepped past the soldiers who were cleaning the battlefield and continued to move forward.
Finally, he stopped beside a boulder that was blackened by cannon fire. It might not be a boulder, but a destroyed fortification. A dying man was lying there, like a lump of mud that was curled up and wriggling in the snow and blood.
The officer squatted down and looked at the Typhon soldier who was struggling to breathe. Judging from the remnants of the soldier's clothing, he should be a member of the 11th Knight Regiment of the National Knight Regiment. He was a low-ranking Knight. The soldier was lying in the mud. It was not even possible to see how many wounds he had. Only a large amount of dirty blood could be seen sticking him and the surrounding soil together. His fatal wound was the gaping wound on his chest and abdomen. It might have been caused by a flying shrapnel, or it might have been caused by a sharp flying rock. No matter what the reason was, it had obviously cut off the soldier's life.
In fact, if it was a 'normal' human, he would have died by now.
The officer lowered his head and glanced at the wound. In the dirty blood, he saw some wriggling granulation and tentacles. These disgusting proliferative tissues were stretching in vain, as if trying to close the wound and gather the lost blood. But these efforts were destined to be futile. Judging from the extent of their wriggling, this' divine power 'had obviously come to an end.
Perhaps he had sensed that there was someone nearby, or perhaps it was his last burst of consciousness, but in the next second, the fallen soldier who was about to take his last breath suddenly opened his eyes. His murky, frenzied eyes glowed with a terrifying blood-red color, but he still managed to see the figure in front of him. A weak voice came out from the soldier's mouth. "Sir … Sir …"
The officer looked at him and whispered something he often said these days. "Hang in there, the medic is on the way."
"No … No need …" The soldier seemed to whisper as his head moved in an imperceptible manner. "The Lord is summoning me, he is already summoning me …"
The officer looked at the soldier expressionlessly as he listened to the muffled whisper of the dying soldier. He did not say anything to comfort him, nor did he continue to encourage him.
The soldier's murmurs became more and more indistinct and muffled. But all of a sudden, a glimmer of light appeared in his blood-red eyes. He seemed to have gathered his last bit of strength. He stared at the commanding officer beside him and asked over and over again as if he had gone mad. "Did you witness it? Did you witness it … Did you witness it … "
The officer looked at him and slowly said, "Yes, I witnessed it."
The soldier suddenly breathed a sigh of relief as if his last wish had been fulfilled. The light in his eyes quickly dimmed. Whether it was the light of madness or the light of humanity, it quickly dimmed. His deflated chest squeezed out his last breath and let out a sigh. "I feel … a little cold …"
After a moment of silence, the officer stood up. An accompanying support mage came forward and reported to him after a simple inspection. "His soul has dissipated. His heart, lungs, and brain have all stopped working."
"Burn it." The officer nodded. "Remember to retrieve the identity card."
He raised his head and looked at the other parts of the base. He saw more support mages entering the base. Not far away, the large magic circle used for concentrated burning was already in operation.
…
Winter Fort stood between the mountains. Just like its name, it was a fortress as white as ice.
When the weather was clear, one could see the distant Winterwolf Fortress from the highest tower of Winterwolf Fortress.
The owner of this fortress was the powerful battle mage, Count Palin Winterfort. He and his family had been rooted in the mountains in the north for hundreds of years. They were the important back-up and support of the defensive line of Winter Wolf Fort. After the fall of Winter Wolf Fort, the battlefield was pushed into Typhon. Winter Fort, which was originally on the second line of defense, had now become the core node of the frontline.
In a room on the third floor of White Castle, the Count of Winterfort was standing in front of a white wall. The wall was inlaid with precious magic crystals, and the surface of the wall was coated with a layer of magic that flowed like mercury. As the surrounding crystals lit up little by little, a scene from afar gradually appeared on the surface of the mercury-like coating.
It was the image sent by the mage's eyes at each node of the defensive line of Winter Fort through the communication tower. Although it was slightly distorted, one could still distinguish the distinctive mountains, rivers, and woodlands. Palin Winterfort waved his arm and kept switching the images on the wall to confirm the situation of each node of the defensive line.
Suddenly, Count Winterfort stopped patrolling the nodes. He tilted his head slightly and listened to the report sent by a low-level mage through the communication spell. Then he looked at the magic wall in front of him. After a simple seal gesture, the wall immediately showed a new image.
It was a scene somewhere in Winter Fort. Next to a brand new platform, a black magic train with Typhon's coat of arms was gradually slowing down and stopping.
Although a large number of Cecil's technicians were absent, the Empire's own team of mechanics and scholars still maintained the normal operation of several important industrial and military railways. This train from the inland to Winter Fort was one of them.
Palin Winterfort stood there and quietly looked at the image on the wall. He watched the train come to a stop and watched the soldiers and officers step off the train onto the platform.
He sighed slightly.
Another batch of fanatical and excellent corpses walked off the troop carrier.
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