Of course, Sir Vere’s mention of “kicking in the door” was merely a figure of speech.
But the rookie investigator clearly took it literally.
He tucked away his short wand, took two steps back, and lowered his center of gravity, looking as if he was about to take a running start.
The deputy grabbed him by the back of his collar.
“Are you actually going to kick it?”
The rookie blinked.
“Didn't the boss tell me to kick it?”
“He said breach!”
“Not send another patient to the sanatorium.”
The rookie looked down at his boots, then at the iron door that even the 【Knock Spell】 had failed to open, and silently withdrew his foot.
This door wasn't just locked.
The entire door panel, the frame, and even the walls on both sides were integrated by spiritual circuits.
If a sufficiently powerful Knight of Combat were present, they might have been able to kick the door and the wall down together.
But the Seventh Agency was, after all, an organization composed of mystics.
They certainly had Knights of Combat.
But none of those brought along today were strong enough to kick this thing down.
The deputy pushed the rookie back into the line and raised his cane once more.
“Everyone, prepare to breach!”
A row of short wands pointed at the main entrance simultaneously.
Searing firelight, compressed arcane energy, and several spells of various colors slammed into the iron door one after another.
The protective circuits on the door flared to life, attempting to disperse the impact to the walls on both sides.
During the first round, the door frame cracked.
During the second round, the entire wall began to bulge inward.
When the third round of spells rained down, the iron door, along with the brick walls on both sides, collapsed with a deafening crash.
Smoke and dust wrapped in gravel poured into the lobby.
The reception desk behind the door was crushed to pieces by half of the wall, and several caregivers hiding in the corridor squatted down with their hands over their heads.
The investigators ignored them. The two at the very front deployed barriers to block the flying bricks and stones, while the personnel behind them immediately surged through the gap.
The rookie was about to rush inside when Sir Vere raised his hand to stop him.
“First team, head to the basement.”
“The rest of you, lock down the wards and stairwells. Do not touch any pipelines.”
The tactical team did not rush toward the wards where screams were echoing.
Oliver Brown's autopsy results had already proven that the sanatorium's key to creating suicide bombers did not lie solely within the patients' bodies.
The expanded spiritual circuits near his spine bore constant traces of external transmission.
As long as the supply remained, any hospital bed could turn into a second Oliver.
The investigators ran straight down the corridor to the basement.
The sanatorium's underground transmission room was even cleaner than the wards upstairs.
There was no smell of medicine in the air, only the cold fragrance left behind by burning glow-amber.
Pipelines encased in white ceramic shells were embedded in the walls, revealing a faint blue spiritual glimmer only at a few connection points.
A dozen branch lines led to the wards above, eventually converging in the center of the basement.
A row of monitoring gauges hung on the wall, each dial corresponding to a patient number.
The needles swayed gently with the breathing of those in the hospital beds, as if what was recorded here were not human lives, but merely a set of numbers that could be replaced at any time.
“Frequency confirmed.”
“It matches the residue inside Oliver's corpse!”
“Cut it!”
Several isolating spikes were driven into the wall simultaneously.
The investigators split open the wall bricks along the marked positions and ripped out the spiritual pipelines inside.
The moment the pipelines were severed, the lights across the entire sanatorium dimmed.
In the observation room next to the transmission room, a physician dressed in white snapped his head up.
He glanced at the darkened gauges, then at the investigators rushing in, and the color drained from his face instantly.
There was no hiding this anymore.
In the next instant, he grit his teeth and slammed his palm onto a mechanism beneath the control console.
Click.
In the adjacent ward, the patients on over a dozen beds arched their bodies simultaneously.
The restraint straps were pulled taut.
Pure spirituality expanded rapidly from near their chests and spines, and white circuits lit up beneath their skin.
The faces of the investigators who had just reached the ward door fell instantly. Several spells for suppression and dispelling formed simultaneously.
“Retreat—”
Before the command could be fully shouted, the soft tap of a cane hitting the floor echoed from behind the corridor.
Tap.
Several translucent triangular planes sealed each of the patients inside.
The spells from the outside struck the barriers and instantly froze in mid-air.
The control signal sent by the physician from the observation room was also severed.
Since the underground pipelines had already been cut in advance, the rapidly expanding spirituality inside the patients lost its subsequent supply, ultimately freezing at the very moment it was about to cross the critical threshold.
Through the observation window, the physician stared in disbelief at the triangular planes shifting around the ward.
“【Sphere of Protection】?!”
“Scale Six?!”
The investigators in the corridor parted to both sides.
Cecil slowly stepped forward from the middle, stopping outside the observation room door, looking at the physician's already deathly pale face.
“Oliver Brown already showed us this once.”
“The Seventh Agency won't fall for the same trick twice.”
The physician's lips trembled, but he couldn't utter a word.
The investigators inside the observation room had already grabbed his arms from both sides and pinned him heavily onto the control console.
Only after confirming that all self-destruct circuits had ceased responding did Orphal withdraw the 【Sphere of Protection】.
Over a dozen patients were urgently transferred.
Experimental records, potion samples, and projection materials were packed into evidence boxes in batches. The internal numbers in the cabinets matched the ledgers of the Blue Sail Trading Company one by one.
Those records were highly detailed.
How much spirituality each patient could withstand, how many times the circuits could be expanded before they lost consciousness, and which potion to administer if a rejection reaction occurred—all of it was neatly listed in tables.
The recorder had even written the words “material loss” after the deceased cases.
Seeing this, an investigator responsible for sealing the boxes paused. He then placed that record into a separate evidence bag and stamped it heavily with a seal.
Yet, a space in the center of the basement remained empty.
All spiritual pipelines had once converged there.
Several mounting grooves were left on the floor, surrounded by fresh scratches from when the equipment had been dismantled.
The scale slots used to receive spirituality had already been hauled away, leaving only an empty metal base.
An investigator took off his glove and touched the base.
“It's still warm.”
Cecil stared at the empty space, her expression not relaxing in the slightest despite the patients being rescued.
Wayland had indeed sensed danger.
They hadn't had time to clean up all the experimental records, but they had already moved the most important thing in advance.
Once the scene was initially sealed, Cecil returned to the armored carriage.
Just as she closed the carriage door, the private letter box beside her seat made a soft click, spitting out a letter with an emergency wax seal.
The sender was Evelyn Beckett.
Cecil tore open the letter, and the very first line made her eyes freeze.
The council vote has concluded.
The authorization bill has passed.
The Octowin is authorized to deploy its main battery in the defense of Moon Bay.
However, only a single supernatural shell will be unsealed in the first batch.
The target coordinates must be independently observed by the Navy, and no location unilaterally provided by Wayland shall be accepted.
Before attacking any invisible spiritual targets, a risk adjudication must be obtained from the Storm Inquisition judge on board.
The Seventh Agency holds the right to inspect and monitor the ship throughout the entire process.
Wayland has no authority to issue orders independently.
Orphal had originally been in a good mood.
The 【Sphere of Protection】 he cast just now had been timely; it both saved lives and avoided stealing his student's spotlight.
Only when he saw Cecil's brow furrow deeper and deeper did the slight smile on his face gradually fade.
“What is it?”
“News from Landon?”
“Yes.”
Cecil nodded slightly.
“So the report still couldn't stop him?”
“We were never going to stop him in the first place.”
Cecil flipped the letter over.
“But this time, what he obtained is not just a gun.”
“It is merely the qualification to apply to fire it.”
One shell.
Navy coordinates.
An onboard judge's adjudication.
Seventh Agency monitoring.
If any single step in the procedure fails, Wayland cannot fire the main battery.
These restrictions were already the best outcome Prince Edric and Cecil could fight for.
If Thomas really only wanted to assist in port defense, these restrictions would not hinder him.
But if his goal was to have a specific shell land on a pre-selected location, then the Navy, the onboard judge, and the Seventh Agency monitors would be three gates he had to bypass.
Yet, there was one final line at the end of the letter.
Thomas Wayland has accepted all restrictions and requested the Octowin to continue sailing toward Moon Bay.
Orphal's brow furrowed completely.
“With so many restrictions, that kid still agreed?”
“That is why this is the real bad news.”
Cecil pressed her finger against that line of text.
Thomas didn't even haggle.
This could only mean that for him, as long as the Octowin could continue to approach Moon Bay, and as long as there remained a possibility of that shell being legally unsealed, these restrictions were entirely acceptable.
Just as she finished speaking, a harsh, screeching sound of twisting metal suddenly echoed from inside the sanatorium.
Screeech—
It sounded as if all the iron in the entire building was being clenched by a single giant hand at once.
The investigator responsible for guarding the basement rushed out of the collapsed entrance.
“Ms. Envoy!”
“The seized evidence is moving on its own!”
Cecil stuffed the letter back into her trench coat, and she and Orphal stepped down from the carriage together.
In the next moment, the entire row of street-facing windows of the sanatorium shattered one after another.
The evidence seals stuck to the equipment were instantly torn apart.
Bed frames, transmission pipes, and surgical instruments flew out of the windows, colliding and bending in mid-air, forcibly melted into new shapes by an invisible force.
Screws wound themselves into joints.
Copper pipes twisted into arms.
Vast amounts of metal completed their reorganization amidst the screech of friction, transforming in the blink of an eye into ten long-limbed brass puppets.
They looked up simultaneously.
Their hollow faces turned toward the armored carriage.
The investigators responsible for the perimeter lockdown immediately raised their short wands, but they did not rashly open fire.
The movements of the ten puppets were perfectly synchronized without the slightest deviation.
They raised their long arms together, their metal knuckles slowly opening in the morning light.
“【Fabricate】 followed by 【Animate Objects】.”
Orphal cast aside his previous ease and took a step forward, shielding Cecil.
“A Scale Six alchemical craftsman.”
Gravel trickled down from the door frame.
A man slowly walked out from the main entrance of the sanatorium.
He wore a brass half-mask, carrying a black metal case in his hand that was still radiating heat.
An emblem composed of a hammer and a gear was engraved in the center of the mask.
Encircling the emblem was a ring of tiny black flames.
That was not the public symbol of the Church of Alchemy and Craftsmen.
Ordinary believers would only mistake it for a decoration.
But the moment Orphal saw that ring of flames, he yanked Cecil behind his back.
“The Secret Gold Reclamation Institute?”
Rate on N.U.
