Chapter 117 : Crying Angel Tactical Squad
Chapter 117: Crying Angel Tactical Squad
“How about calling it the ‘Crying Angel’ Tactical Squad?”
With their own ample firepower—a large rifle capable of sniping a soldier’s mechanical body in one shot, a rotary Gatling gun for suppressive fire, and the support of a recoilless cannon—
they were fully equipped.
Facing small infiltration units of enemy mechanical troops alone, they could carry out swift and precise eliminations.
In addition to their assigned transport airship, two small airships for aerial fire support, and later-stage tactical bombers and gunships converted from bombers—
this entire firepower configuration could completely determine the course of a localized battle.
In Doctor Strange, the “Crying Angel” either could not be seen—or if you saw it, you died. Quite fitting for how Mitia envisioned her mechanical squads.
The machines were piloted by special soldiers, and Seris’s selection of special operations troops focused more on tactical skill than on whether one was a mage.
It wasn’t that non-mages couldn’t use them—just that ordinary people were more cost-effective.
Furthermore, Seris regarded the mechanical body as a soldier’s second life. If soldiers were forced to abandon their mechs and fight hand-to-hand, it would mean technological failure.
The magical world’s military systems were largely transparent to the Seris Federation, so one had to make adept use of the strengths and weaknesses between friend and foe to compensate and counter strategically.
To be honest, Mitia rather wished she could communicate with the semi-secluded Goblin Kingdom, since their future could only take two paths:
either truly achieve alchemical god-making—reaching the realm of gods through inscription-based alchemy—
or transform their own bodies through alchemy to extend their lifespans.
A race’s geniuses living no longer than fifty years was an unbearable loss for any species.
“Alchemical body modification for life extension? That’s quite an interesting thought.”
A tall, voluptuous lady appeared beside Mitia. Seeing it was Aisha, Mitia grew a little annoyed.
“I told you all not to pry into people’s thoughts so carelessly!”
Aisha covered her mouth. “Ahh~ my bad, my bad, I must’ve forgotten~”
“But really, that idea of yours is quite fascinating. It’s a bit like what the gnomes are doing now.”
“Gnomes? Aren’t gnomes just goblins?”
Mitia looked puzzled. She remembered that when checking the continental racial index in the library, gnomes were simply another regional term for goblins.
“That’s old intel. The gnomes now... hmm, maybe even calling them ‘gnomes’ doesn’t quite fit anymore. They somehow found some kind of technology that made them disgusting—but powerful.”
“How disgusting?”
“Well... bloody, like beasts skinned alive. But they’re extremely resilient—comparable to war beasts among the orcs. Though it seems there’s a side effect—they lose their sanity. I’ve even received extermination requests from the Gnome race before.”
“Anyway, there’s a branch that completely split off from the goblins. They call themselves the Gnome Race and claim no connection to the Goblins.”
Mitia said, “...Fleshcrafting technology?”
Aisha found a chair and sat down, crossing her long, sensual legs.
“That’s quite an apt description. Otherwise, why do you think we appeared in this world? Things are starting to get messy~”
Mitia rubbed her forehead. She felt that this world was developing in a very strange direction.
In a world ruled by magic, instead of exploring how to better use it, people were busy dabbling in these twisted paths.
What next—were they going to spawn an entire spirit race?
But thinking about it, it made a kind of sense. Those lacking talent in magic had no path forward—but life always sought a way. Blindly groping for chances was better than walking into a dead end of pure magic.
Perhaps the racial compendium she’d read before was now useless. The world was changing too rapidly—
and this subcontinent seemed like a rare land of peace in comparison.
It probably had something to do with the difference in competition pressure; the main continent was in a near-constant state of war, except for a few remote regions.
As everyone knew, war was the greatest catalyst of civilization.
If you didn’t want a miserable end, you had to keep pace with your enemies’ advancements—or be crushed eventually.
Mitia widened her bright eyes and feigned innocence, gazing at Aisha with watery pupils as she said in a dark tone:
“Aisha-sis, can you get me a few of those gnome monsters? I’ve got this uneasy feeling—maybe let me shoot a few for target practice?”
No—she hated the emergence of unknown elements beyond her control. She had to test them on the range, see if they were still carbon-based lifeforms.
Maybe it was time to prioritize developing thermite?
So—was acting cute shameful? Not at all! Everything was for the Federation!
Aisha pondered. “Well... the Gnome race doesn’t seem to have gone insane recently. Otherwise, they’d have asked for our help again. We witches are known for keeping secrets.”
Seeing the “petite” Mitia snuggle up to her, holding her arm with those pure, adoring eyes, Aisha’s tone softened:
“I know a shortcut into Gnome territory. I can sneak in and grab you one.”
“Two!”
Aisha ruffled Mitia’s hair, undoing her twin buns.
“Just one! No more!”
Although the witches had teleportation arrays directly linking to Gnome lands, only witches possessed those.
Steal too much from them and the culprit would be obvious.
Stealing one was fine—more than that would be embarrassing...
“Fine, one then!”
Mitia pouted, pulling off her twin buns. Her smooth silver hair cascaded down as she flicked it casually, a few strands brushing Aisha’s face, making her heart ticklish.
“I’ve actually wanted to ask you something,” Aisha said. “You’re a witch evolved from humans—so... would you ever fall for a human man?”
As Mitia fixed her hair, she tilted her head curiously at Aisha.
“How long does it take for a freshly cooked steak to completely cool?”
Aisha blinked, caught off guard by the unrelated question, but still answered:
“Half an hour? Maybe an hour—I never really paid attention.”
Mitia said offhandedly, “Then let’s say an hour. Would a human fall in love with a steak that only stays warm for an hour?”
“Pfft—!”
“You really do have a strange way of thinking... but that’s rather fitting. Indeed, who would fall in love with a piece of steak~”
Aisha recalled a man she once met while traveling across the continent—
a graceful, witty human.
But she’d only overslept once, and when she returned to find him—only a gravestone remained.
She hadn’t even had the chance to fall for him.
A dragon lived a year, a human passed in a hundred.
“Two it is then. But... I’ll probably have to avoid the Gnome race for a while after this...”
“Yay!!!”