Chapter 258: Chapter 201: Flamethrower

Eduardo Calvin crouched in the charred underbrush, cloaked in a battlefield cape long sullied by ash and muddy water, looking every bit the bounty hunter of noble descent.

“Are you sure there are valuable clues to be found here?”

He tugged at his gloves, addressing the greyhound beside him.

The dog, bred specifically for locating decaying corpses, quivered its nose and occasionally perked up its ears, pacing restlessly over the scorched ground.

“…Nothing? Another wild goose chase?”

The hound gave a couple of whines, indicating there was something there.

“Hah…”

Eduardo sighed, flinging his cloak back with no regard for the bloodstains and dust on his clothes.

He casually peeled away the crusted ground, prying apart a heap of burnt vines, and finally unearthed a fragment of remains smeared with black bone residue.

It was almost beyond recognition, like a wax figure crumpled in a furnace, emanating a half-dead stench.

His face instantly soured; “Lord, what sins have I committed…”

Eduardo complained as he fished out a clean white cloth from his pocket, wiping the mud off his fingers with a nobly restrained grace.

The hound looked at him, whimpered, and flicked its tongue over his sleeve, as if to comfort him for another fruitless search.

“Yes, yes, I know you’re even less satisfied than I am.”

He patted the dog’s head, then looked up to the distant gray sky.

Just as he began to question life, doubt the dog, suspect the church, and even ponder why the world so cruelly tasked him with grave digging…

A dark shadow flitted across the gray sky.

Its wings spanned like blades, slicing through the dull wind, diving towards Eduardo.

Eduardo didn’t look up, just squinted his eyes, his mouth twitching.

“…Tsk, this one is for Louis.”

He maintained his crouched stance, extending his left arm.

The gray-feathered bird adeptly flapped its wings, landing on his shoulder, nipping lightly at a Silver Ring.

He deftly retrieved it, unfolding the slightly crumpled letter.

The paper was far from delicate, even bearing traces of moisture.

The letter roughly stated: “Found a special corpse, possibly linked to the Nest’s mental core. If you have time, come to Red Tide Territory to check it out.”

In the first second, he frowned.

In the second second, he took a deep breath.

In the third second, he looked up at the overcast northern sky, as if seriously gauging whether destiny itself was playing a trick on him.

Then he looked down at the heap of freshly dug mud, so dismal even Divine Grace wouldn’t resonate, his mouth twitching slightly.

“I spent over half a month, personally digging thirty-six graves… and he just ’happens’ to find a ’special corpse’ so easily?”

Eduardo murmured almost as if his soul had departed, then sat down, pulling the “corpse-scent hound” into his arms.

“Gray, let’s go. At least it’s warmer at Red Tide.”

The hound licked his chin in response, while the gray-feathered courier on his shoulder focused on grooming its feathers, completely ignoring his internal collapse.

Eduardo stood up, dusting himself off: “I hope this time there’s a real outcome. The dread in my heart grows ever deeper.”

……

The north wind howled, and the wasteland on the northern side of Red Tide City seemed to be scraped by icy blades, the exposed ground long frozen hard.

This was the “explosive test wasteland” used for weapon testing; the Magic Explosion Bullet was previously tested here.

The Knight silently carried two heavy iron boxes to the center of the wasteland, raising a thin layer of dust as they hit the ground.

“Lord, both weapons you designed are completed, please take a look.” Mike blinked his bloodshot eyes, yet his face bore a barely concealed excitement and pride.

Louis stood behind him, nodding quietly.

Mike deftly opened the first box, and a cold metallic gleam burst forth.

It was a black and red flamethrower, akin to a slumbering beast.

The main unit resembled a hefty metal backpack, covered with engravings and explosion-proof welds, connected to a thick tube stretching out to the nozzle.

The front of the nozzle opened like a beast’s maw, with a blue-tinged Flint Crystal Stone embedded in the inner wall, ominously suggesting death.

Mike knelt cautiously, pulling out the hose, as if grooming the wings of a child he had personally cared for.

He tapped the metal canister: “This is the primary model flamethrower, weighing about thirty pounds, designed for carrying on the back. It propels Petroleum through a pressure system, with an automatic ignition mechanism at the front end that lights by pulling the trigger.”

Mike stepped back half a pace, gesturing to someone in the distance, “For the Petroleum part, I’ll let the formulator explain it personally.”

Hillco, with a smug smile, walked over to the flamethrower, giving the metal canister a gentle pat.

“This is the fourth generation of Fire Scale Oil I formulated,” his voice was low yet clear and steady, “it’s thick, with an extremely strong adhesion, able to cling to armor, leather, or even snow blocks and continue burning.

In tests, it can burn through three layers of leather armor, ignite a whole pile of wetland. The range is controlled between three to four meters, balancing coverage and precision. A single spray can last up to twelve seconds…

Of course, if you continuously hold it, in less than a quarter-hour, a whole squad of Snow Swearers can pretty much become a charcoal illustration.”

Louis, not quite grasping the concept from the description, directly ordered: “Begin the experiment.”

The cold wind roared across the wasteland, sweeping up snow and dust from the ground.

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