Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Alliance Magic Combat Bureau's research shows that a spellcaster's magical talent is an indivisible whole. The three major types of spells are artificially divided post-hoc; those with magical talent can use all types of magic.

In simple terms, humans can only be divided into "those with magical talent" and "those without." There is no such case as someone possessing only a partial talent for magic.

For example, during tests, even if a subject only displayed talent for fire-type spells, while the other two types remained latent, after prolonged training, they could still learn to use sonic-type spells and acceleration-type spells.

Take Winters, for instance. Although his specialty is fire-type spells, he is equally capable of using acceleration-type and sonic-type spells. it's just that his progress in the latter two is slower, which is why he prefers to devote his time and energy to fire-type magic.

But Moritz van Nassau wasn't like that. He was a unique case among the thousands of spellcasters trained by the Magic Combat Bureau over the years. He only possessed talent for acceleration-type magic and could only use high-level acceleration-type spells.

As for sonic-type and fire-type magic, even after years of arduous practice, he could only manage the most basic spells and was unable to perform any advanced applications.

[The Sonic Blast Spell is, to put it plainly, a louder version of an amplification spell, not considered a higher-level application] (Thanks to the book friend with the screen name "Black Computer Accessories" for pointing out the plot bug, I've come to debug it.)

When Moritz was taking spellcaster courses at the military academy, his instructors and classmates jokingly referred to his rare condition as a "natural disability."

However, those desperados lying in the underground passages would probably disagree with that term.

In just a few short breaths' time, the only ones left standing in the tunnel were Colonel Field, Major Moritz, and Warrant Officer Winters.

The smell of rust mixed with the scent of earth assaulted Winters' nostrils. The flickering torches lit up the tunnel walls, splattered with red and white everywhere, making it seem not like a passageway ten meters beneath Sea Blue City but rather the backyard of a bustling butcher shop.

Field shook the blood off his knife and quickly caught up with the individual he had ordered the Major to keep alive.

"Don't, don't kill me..." the masked man with his knees smashed crawled on the ground, scraping at the earth with his hands, trying to move forward.

"Shh, quiet." The Colonel crouched next to the masked man, spoke kindly, and asked, "Where is the cripple?" Stay updated via empire

"He's up ahead, right up ahead." The masked man hastily pointed deeper into the tunnel, then suddenly bowed his head to kiss the Colonel's boots: "Don't kill me, I'll take you there."

Field distastefully stepped back a pace.

"I'll lead the way." The masked man struggled to stand up but couldn't maintain his balance. Barely managing to stumble forward half a step, he fell to the ground again. His wound was disturbed, and curling like a shrimp from the pain, he began to wail miserably.

"Enough, enough. Since he hasn't moved, there's no need for you to lead the way." Field walked toward the masked man with his sword drawn in a backhand grip.

The masked man, who had been wailing on the ground just a moment before, suddenly sprang up. He seemed to be arching from pain, but in reality, it was a ploy to extract a weapon from his bosom, and now he held a gleaming dagger, thrusting it towards the Colonel's abdomen.

Whoosh, another sharp whizzing sound, and a silvery light struck the back of the masked man's head accurately. The force of the silver coin caused the masked man's entire body to lurch forward, and he fell face-down in the dust, breathing no more.

"Interesting, he even wanted to take someone down with him," Field muttered, sinking his sword into the masked man's back to ensure he was utterly dead.

Then he nonchalantly wiped his sword on the dead man's clothes and, without looking up, asked Winters, "Have you dealt with the rest behind us?"

Winters noticed how the Colonel, though he seemed rough, was in fact quite cautious. He answered as calmly as possible, "Neck, chest, I doubled-check each."

"Interesting," Field, sounding slightly surprised, didn't expect this trainee to work so efficiently. The Colonel leisurely sheathed his sword: "Let's go."

The trio encountered only that one group blocking their way; after that, they encountered no more obstructions as they moved forward.

Passing a storeroom stacked with wooden crates and barrels, Field led Winters through a securely shut wooden door into a small room.

In Seacrawler Street, which mainly used tombs and sewers as its infrastructure, this small room could be considered refined. It had not only a bed and a desk but also a stone floor. The most eye-catching things in the room were two large bookshelves loaded with rolls of documents. Had it not been for the underground gloom, Winters would have believed it was a scribe's dwelling.

The torch's flame flickered from side to side, indicating the presence of hidden ventilation or a secret passage.

"Where is he? Escaped?" Field, seated heroically on the bed, said, "Cripple, if you don't come out now, I'll burn all your stuff outside."

No one responded to him.

"An old friend visits, yet you hide away. Then I'll just have to hand your ledger over to the Security Committee and see how many gentlemen involved themselves in your grand enterprise," Field continued talking to the empty air.

Though he mentioned looking for the ledger, Field didn't even glance at the files on the bookshelves. He stood up and took the stack of blank papers from the desk into his hands, shaking them before Moritz and Winters: "Found it."