The master spent nearly half an hour explaining each low-tier spell to Lieutenant Hull. As he listened, the lieutenant felt increasingly conflicted. Just as the master had said, every one of these spells was incredibly useful, yet he could only choose one.
For Lieutenant Hell, this night proved another sleepless one. He mentally shuffled combinations over and over, envisioning every possible scenario he might encounter in the occupied territories.
By dawn the next day, the lieutenant still wavered between "Low-Level Animal Control," "Telekinesis," and "Hypnosis."
Divine Warriors branched into thousands of specializations, with the Scout lineage undoubtedly the most numerous. Last night, Master Maren had not only offered him much advice but also introduced him to some of the more renowned branches associated with Scouts.
Among them, the "Jungle Lords"—scouts who advanced through mastery of "Low-Level Animal Control"; the "Mindblade Assassins"—scouts who advanced through 'Telekinesis'; and the "Mind Thieves"—scouts who advanced through "Hypnosis"—were all eerily formidable beings.
Even as he headed to the Military Intelligence Bureau for the meeting, the lieutenant's mind was still racing with calculations.
In the conference room, besides that obnoxious fat worm, there was also a young man dressed like a mage. Unlike Master Maren, he wore a grayish-black robe, clearly indicating a lower rank.
The fat worm droned on at length before finally revealing the matter concerning the Divine Gifted Warriors. Even then, the creature refused to lay everything out plainly. Not only did it hedge and evade in places, but it also laced its account with lies. Lieutenant Her had no way of knowing if this was simply the distinctive style of the Yafa Intelligence Agency.
The lieutenant stole a glance around. Besides himself, two others appeared equally unmoved, clearly having already learned of this matter from other sources.
Once the fat worm finished his rambling, the group followed the young mage toward the rear of the town. There, a narrow path led directly to the back mountains. Dense thickets lined both sides of the trail, its elevated embankments and the canopy of dense foliage concealing it completely.
The mountain path was uneven and winding, though not particularly long. A thin layer of moss covered the ground, making it slippery, so everyone moved slowly.
The mages' camp lay on the other side of the ridge, reached by traversing a steep, narrow cliff.
To the lieutenant's surprise, the camp was modest in size—a simple earthen fortress surrounded by a three-meter-high, one-meter-thick wall. Rows of square openings were carved into the wall, each housing a black muzzle pointing outward. A squad of soldiers patrolled the ramparts.
Upon entering the camp, Lieutenant Her found himself puzzled by the presence of two commanders. One was the commander of the garrison troops responsible for protecting the site. The other was a short, elderly man whose age was nearly impossible to guess. The old man looked exceptionally stern, his face as cold as ice.
The old man seemed uninvolved in affairs. The true authority was Master Maren, whom Lieutenant Hell had met the previous night. The master acted as if he didn't recognize Lieutenant Hell at all. No one would suspect that privately, the two had already made contact.
Lieutenant Hell glanced around. The other two who also knew the truth appeared to have no connection with these mages. For some reason, this suddenly made him feel relieved.
In one corner of the camp, a makeshift tent had been hastily erected. It was enormous, resembling a field hospital. Rectangular in shape, it was supported at both ends by wooden poles as thick as bowls, with six additional pillars erected in the center. The entire structure was tightly sealed, its airtightness surpassing even that of a field hospital.
The young wizard who had led them did not venture deep into the tent. To the lieutenant's surprise, a small room had been partitioned off inside. This room could hold twenty people, half of it occupied by a lime pool, the other half by a shower area.
Each person was driven into the lime pool to soak for five minutes, then passed through the shower area, emerging dripping wet and stark naked into the tent.
The tent felt like another world. Most conspicuous were two rows of neatly arranged coffins lining both sides. Roughly hewn from thick planks, they emitted a faint, hazy rainbow glow from within, creating an eerie and mysterious atmosphere.
At the tent's center stood two long tables laden with tools and vessels of unknown purpose. The most numerous and conspicuous items were flasks of varying sizes, all sealed and filled with a liquid that emitted a crystalline blue glow.
Seeing the group of recipients standing naked and dazed to the side, a wizard who appeared to be in his sixties, with white hair and beard and wearing small round-framed glasses, approached and said, "Don't just stand there like fools. Your military numbers are written next to the preparation tanks. Find yours and lie down inside."
Obedience was a soldier's duty, so Lieutenant Her followed the old mage's instructions without hesitation.
This so-called "modulation tank" struck the lieutenant as quite novel. Like all things related to magic, its interior was covered in characters and symbols he couldn't decipher at all.
These mysterious characters and symbols formed peculiar geometric patterns, layered and nested within each other, appearing extraordinarily complex.
Amidst these intricate, beautiful patterns formed by the enigmatic symbols, crystals of various sizes and shapes were embedded. The lieutenant leaned closer to examine one crystal, within which a complex, mysterious pattern faintly shimmered.
"Have you made up your mind?"
Just as the lieutenant was engrossed in "exploring" the mysteries of magic, Master Maren suddenly approached, bending down to ask him.
"I've always wanted to raise a few obedient purebred hounds, but I've always worried about how difficult it would be to train them properly," the lieutenant said with a smile. He spoke this way to avoid arousing suspicion; naturally, the fewer people who knew about this secret shrouded in darkness, the better.
Master Maren fully understood the implication behind Lieutenant Hell's words. Scouts and "Low-Level Animal Control" were an exceptionally well-suited combination. He could even guess the reason behind the lieutenant's choice.
The greatest advantage of this combination was safety. Using controlled animals as spies while remaining hidden in the background made it the option least likely to expose one to danger among all possibilities.
However, the mage was unaware that the lieutenant harbored another consideration.
Among all combinations, only "Low-Level Animal Control" could simultaneously command a group of creatures, meaning the potential for amplified power.
"What is this?" the lieutenant demanded the moment he saw the flask filled with blue liquid in Master Maren's hand.
"Dragonroot Elixir. For us mages, it's a potion that provides mana, and it's also the 'fuel' required for most magical rituals to function."
"If the adjustments succeed, you'll need it too in the future. But you won't need much Dragonroot Elixir. 'Low-Level Animal Control' is a very mana-efficient spell. This one bottle will be enough for you to establish an entire legion of animal soldiers." Master Maren said, swirling the flask in his hand.
As he spoke, the mage tipped the flask. The crystalline blue liquid slowly filled the intricate geometric patterns, which instantly emitted a misty blue glow—like rising steam or a haze—as if igniting a dazzling blue flame.
Turning his head, Lieutenant Herl stared intently at the intricate patterns on the right wall. In a daze, the blue liquid seemed to transform into blood—magical blood—while the complex geometric shapes undoubtedly became veins.
Perhaps from two days without sleep, perhaps from the hypnotic power of that blue light, Lieutenant Herl drifted into a deep slumber without realizing it. He slept soundly and peacefully.
He had no way of knowing that while he slept, the blue light pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, and the mist enveloping his body seemed to gain a life of its own.
When the lieutenant awoke again, the tent was silent. He sat up cautiously, finding no one around. The mixing tank beside him was empty. Of the flasks that had once filled the long table at the center, only two remained, while piles of empty flasks littered the floor beneath.
Fully awake, Lieutenant Her examined his body from head to toe. His muscles, once solid and bulging like hard rock, had not grown more powerful after the process. Instead, they had become supple and elastic, and his broad shoulders now appeared noticeably slimmer.
The lieutenant quickly realized he had traded his former strength for a body that was now supple and agile, perhaps even possessing enduring stamina.
"Thank God you're finally awake. The others have been training for a week, and you're just waking up now," remarked a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old apprentice in a gray robe as he entered from outside.
"A week?" the lieutenant murmured in confusion. "Why did I wake up so late?"
"It's normal. You're the only one who requested 'Spirit Shaping.' That process requires secondary adjustments, so waking later than others is expected. In fact, your training will differ from theirs. You'll need more time to master your new abilities." The apprentice casually handed over a fresh set of clothes.
The lieutenant took the clothes. They weren't the military uniform he'd worn for years, but loose civilian attire.
"They told me to inform you that from now on, you are no longer a soldier. You must forget everything related to the military. A carriage awaits you outside."
Lieutenant Her said nothing, merely nodding.
Stepping outside the tent, his first sight was a carriage parked at the entrance—a completely black carriage, its windows sealed shut. Driving it was a burly man whose face was so thickly covered in hair it was impossible to see.
"Get in. You've kept everyone waiting far too long," the burly man bellowed as he drove the carriage closer.
"Am I really that important? I always thought of myself as a dispensable nobody," the lieutenant replied with a smile. His expression held an indescribable mix of self-mockery and cynical detachment.
As he spoke, he pulled open the carriage door and climbed inside.
With a sharp crack of the whip, the carriage rolled toward the camp gates.