Chapter 547: Operation “Melting Point”
Agatha paced in front of the mahogany table, three steps one direction, three steps back, each turn precise and impatient.
“So your argument is: the Sigil of God’s Will penetrates God’s Stone defenses because its magic power is stronger? And the Chaos Beasts modified God’s Stones by reducing their magic power — turning them from natural interference fields into specific Magic Stones?” She stopped. “That’s what you’re saying.”
“That’s the theory.”
“Then—” She halted mid-pace. “If the dark hollow results from immense magic power, why doesn’t it affect the witch? Anna’s power is strong enough to activate the Sigil twice. That makes her more powerful than the God’s Stone by your own logic. But her Blackfire is still suppressed by the God’s Stone — she generates no interference zone of her own. That contradicts everything you’ve just said.”
Roland was silent. He had no answer that fit.
Agatha resumed pacing, slower now, thinking aloud rather than interrogating. “Another problem: if magic power is what activates magic stones, why can’t common people do it? Even reduced magic power is still present in the stone. And why isn’t it transferable? The Quest Society confirmed it — you can’t extract magic power from a stone and use it as a resource. The stones are just gems before activation, just gems before a witch shapes them into sigils.” She stopped again. “My supervisor believed only living beings can retain functional magic power. Dead matter cannot hold it in any usable form. That was the accepted conclusion. I am not defending it against all revision — but your theory has to account for it.”
He couldn’t. Not yet.
There’s a connection between God’s Stones and the Sigil — Nightingale’s observation is too precise to dismiss. But I’m missing something structural. Something about how the power is organized, not just how much there is.
He set the problem aside. It would resurface when they began manufacturing sigils, and perhaps then there would be something concrete to examine. For now, the operation was three days out.
“I’ll return to it,” he said.
Agatha’s pacing stopped for good. “You’d better.” But there was no heat in it — only a researcher’s preference for problems that stayed solved.
Three days later, Roland walked to the dock.
Two paddle steamers rode the Redwater, their hulls low and steady. Experienced veterans from the First Army stood at the railings — men who had fought demonic beasts on the city wall beside Roland, who knew what it meant to face something that bled black and did not slow down. When he’d screened them, he had been direct: the enemy would likely be more dangerous than anything they had encountered. He had given every man the option to step back. No one had.
He did not romanticize this. Fear was not something that could be trained away in three rehearsals. These were men who would probably remember this battle in the particular way a person remembers events that leave a mark they don’t discuss — the kind of memory that comes back at strange hours.
He had structured the mission accordingly. The soldiers would hold the river line two to three kilometers from the actual battle. They would not engage the demons unless the witches were forced to fall back. Their purpose was a last resort and a retreat route, not a fighting force.
The witches were another matter.
Anna, Nightingale, Wendy, Leaf, Agatha, Sylvie, Iffy, Lightning, Maggie. According to Agatha, this combination could handle a Lord of Hell. Roland had no way to verify that claim and no desire to test it.
“Stay safe.” He looked at each of them. “Your personal safety is the priority. You are not required to complete the mission. I’ll be waiting at the castle.”
Anna stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. She said nothing.
“Me too, Your Majesty.”
Lightning threw herself at him next, Maggie becoming a pigeon on his shoulder and tucking into the side of his neck with a small sound of self-satisfaction.
Then everyone else, in turn.
Agatha stood apart, arms folded, watching the display with an expression caught between exasperation and something she wouldn’t name. “It’s a hunting operation, not a final farewell. If we had bid goodbye like this before every departure in Taquila, the demons would have been past our gates long before the Union fell.”
Iffy stood apart too, though for different reasons.
You don’t have to complete the mission. Just come home.
She had grown up in an organization where those who failed were punished, and those who died were considered liabilities. She had watched combat witches take the field knowing that failure meant humiliation, and surviving failure sometimes meant wishing you hadn’t. She had carried that understanding so long it had stopped feeling like an assumption and started feeling like the shape of the world.
Roland Wimbledon did not treat witches as weapons, or as burdens, or as problems to be managed.
He treated them as people.
She was still not sure what to do with that.
The whistles sounded. Steam rose in white columns. The paddle wheels churned the Redwater into pale froth and the two ships began to move.
Roland stood at the dock and watched them until the water settled.
Then, between one moment and the next, cold hands cupped his face from behind — soft, precise, slightly chill. He had learned what that felt like.
“Take care of yourself while I’m away.” Nightingale’s voice was close to his ear. “Don’t leave the castle without reason.” A small pause. “I’ll come back soon.”
Something light touched his lips. Warmer than her hands. Brief and then gone.
He reached into the air and closed his hand on nothing.
Paddle steamers moved slowly. The journey upriver took nearly two days.
When the snowcap came into sight above the treeline, the witches went quiet. The melt had accelerated since spring’s opening, and months of accumulation had gathered along the precipice in streams that looked, from a distance, like pale threads draped over the cliff face. Up close, those threads were as wide as rivers, the water roaring into the lake at the mountain’s base with a sound that carried deep into the chest.
The Redwater River was only one of the lake’s exits. The others were simply less visible.
After a night’s rest on the bank, the hydrogen balloon rose with the morning and the Farsight began to inflate. The fleet pulled three kilometers back to the river’s edge and began building a defensive line.
Operation Melting Point had begun.
Chapter 547: Operation “Melting Point”
Translator: TransN Editor: TransN
Agatha exasperatingly paced to and fro in front of the mahogany table. “So, according to you, the Sigil of God’s Will can penetrate the God’s Stone of Retaliation because of its stronger magic power? The reason the Chaos Beasts modified the God’s Stone was actually to reduce its magic power and thereby turn it into a specific type of Magic Stone?”
“That’s what I think.”
“No, that isn’t right…” She paused abruptly. “If the dark hollow results from immense magic power, why does nothing happen to the witch?”
“The witch?” Roland was stunned.
“I mean Anna!” Agatha pondered and said, “Her magic power is strong enough to activate the Sigil of God’s Will twice. She is even more powerful than the God’s Stone of Retaliation. Her Blackfire, however, will still be affected by the God’s Stone, and she cannot neutralize the magic power in her vicinity. It doesn’t make sense based on your theory…”
“Well…” Roland was silent for a moment. A reasonable explanation to Agatha’s question escaped him. A God’s Stone of Retaliation of the poorest quality could easily render a witch powerless. Even Anna’s Blackfire, strong as it was, would succumb to such a disturbance. Besides, Anna’s magic power was shaped like a solid metal cube in the misty world, completely different from the hollow black hole.
“Another question. Why can magic stones only be activated by magic power?” Agatha went on. “Even the magic power has become less intense, and the amount of the power left in the stone shouldn’t have been reduced. In fact, common people cannot operate the stone at all. The Quest Society has
also confirmed that the magic power in the magic stone is not transferable. Therefore, magic stones cannot be used as resources.” She paused for a moment and then continued, “My supervisor believed only living beings can retain magic power. Magic power just won’t work on dead organisms. Its proof is witches’ and demons’ blood. Most researchers thought so. I don’t mind you overturning their conclusion, but magic stones are no different from ordinary gems before they’re charged with magic power or become sigils.”
Roland was silent. It seemed his assumption about magic power intensity was a bit irrational. The Thunder of the Magic Power, however, which looked like black light, was so similar to the God’s Stone that there must be some connections between the two entities… What else had he overlooked?
It was a pity there weren’t any reliable observation or analyzing methods in this era. The only way to study magic power was through witches’ abilities or via Stone of Measuring. Even so, what he would learn through this method was merely a very generic description of the features of magic power, which was hardly helpful to further research.
Roland thought for a while and finally decided to set the matter aside for the time being, hoping he would be able to find an answer during the sigil manufacture process afterwards.
…
Three days later, the plan for the “melting point” operation was prepared. Roland sent off the soldiers at the dock in person.
This was the first military operation on a big scale where witches acted as chief combatants. There were two ships in total, both of which were filled with experienced veterans from the First Army. Brian was the captain. These soldiers all had fought with demonist beasts with Roland upon the city wall before, and fully respected and trusted their lord. When Roland was
screening them, he had stressed over and over again that the enemy would be very likely an extremely fierce monster, even more dangerous than demonic hybrids. He had emphasized that anyone who did not wish to participate in the mission could speak up. Nobody had quitted, however, and Nightingale also confirmed that all of them made their decisions at their free will.
Despite their resolution and courage, Roland did not overestimate the fighting capacity of these hundred soldiers he was forced to choose, for people in this world naturally feared demons from the bottoms of their hearts. Unlike him, who had seen all kinds of violent scenes on television or in the cinema and would not be surprised by any ferocious monsters, these ordinary people would be horrified. The memory of this upcoming battle would possibly become a nightmare they would remember for the rest of their lives.
As such, the carefully selected soldiers would not directly participate in fighting, but would protect along the river two or three miles away from the actual battlefield. They would only take action if the witches were forced to retreat in the event of an accident.
The witches Roland selected were the most powerful ones in the City of Neverwinter, including Anna, Nightingale, Wendy, Leaf, Agatha, Sylvie, Iffy, Lightning and Maggie. According to Agatha, such a combination might be even more than enough to kill the Lord of Hell.
“Stay safe. Your personal security is your top priority.” Roland remarked gravely. “You don’t have to complete the mission. I’ll wait for you all at the castle.”
Anna went up to hug him. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect them.”
“Me too, Your Majesty.”
“Coo!”
The little girl and the pigeon hugged Roland, as well.
In the end, everybody hugged Roland except Agatha and Iffy.
Agatha snorted and muttered to herself. “It’s just a simple hunting operation, not goodbye forever. If we bid farewell like you guys just did in Taquila prior to every departure, demons would have been right under your noses long before.”
Iffy, on the other hand, was astounded. It was her first time to hear such a “casual” order—”You don’t have to complete the mission but just need to come back home safely”—His Majesty was too lenient with witches. Was it not considered an encouragement of cowardice? When she was in the Bloodfang Association, she viewed every battle as a fight to the death. Indeed, there had unfortunately been a few combat witches killed in action during the past several years. The witches who had been unable to complete the master’s tasks were severely punished, and were even regarded as useless by the Association members. Roland Wimbledon, however, appeared to carry a totally different attitude toward witches.
He treated witches neither as beasts nor lambs, but simply as “human beings”.
…
Strands of smoke escaped from the chimney and with a whistle, the paddle steamer slowly thrust itself forward and took off.
Suddenly, Roland felt a pair of invisible hands holding his face. They were cold but soft.
“Take good care of yourself when I’m away. Don’t leave the castle randomly.” A familiar voice whispered in his ear. “I’ll be back soon.”
After, he felt something had lightly touched his lips.
Entirely different from the sensation on the face, the touch was a little sweet and wet. Above all, it was warm.
It was a fugitive and illusionary kiss. When Roland finally realized what had happened, he snatched at the air with his hand, only to find nothing was there.
As the steam-powered boat was far slower than the balloon, it took them nearly two days to reach the end of the Redwater River.
At the sight of the towering snowcap, the group of people was awestruck by the magnificent scene before them. As the snow on the mountain melted much slower than that in the forest, the snow water had been accumulating for months. The water ran straight down from the precipice and branched off into various streams upon the projected rocks. From a distance, those streams looked like multiple thin and feeble threads. Upon further exploration, however, they found the streams were as broad as rivers. The water roared and thundered when it flowed into the lake at the foot of the mountain.
Obviously, the Redwater River was only one of the exits to the lake. Otherwise, the river would overflow due to the surging water.
After a night’s rest, the hydrogen balloon rose into the air as it was inflated. In the meantime, the fleet also retreated somewhere three kilometers away from the bank and started to build a defensive front along the river.
The “melting point” operation officially began.