When our military knife pierced the throat of the final target, we detonated the explosives.
When I opened my eyes again, I was hanging from a branch ten meters above the ground. Below me lay five country kids who had fallen and passed out.
After our memories merged, we learned that this world was called the Continent of Magic Rings. Cultivation meant lighting the magic rings inside your body, and falling to your death while stealing bird eggs was the most common way to die from the start.
The captain spent three days pondering at the village entrance, then tore up the notice for the soul-power test. “All units, recon the terrain and build fortifications. We’re having bird eggs for dinner.”
Later, the whole continent would remember the terror of being ruled by five “egg thieves.”
They used triangular military knives instead of wands and set up hidden observation posts in the pope’s bedchamber.
The saintess blushed and asked what “flanking maneuver” meant. The blacksmith’s daughter worked through the night to forge a Gatling-gun wand.
As a meteor shower of forbidden spells rained down on their position, the captain chuckled over the comms. “Number Two, take out the enemy’s mage tower for me.”
