Chapter 30. The Research Complex.

Russian Federation. Location unknown. Research Complex No. 5.

— Hello, Denis Denisovich!

— Hello, Anatoly Borisovich!

— So, what do you have ready for today?

— Here you go, Anatoly Borisovich, the documents on the analysis of the countries.

Anatoly Borisovich approached the table and began scanning the documents lying in folders on the desk with his eyes, while Denis Denisovich, dressed in a white lab coat, busied himself disassembling a weapon that resembled an early 19th-century Earth arquebus.

— What do we know so far? — Anatoly asked, shifting his gaze to the stack of papers.

— We have information about Louria, — Denis replied, flipping through his notes. — This state is located beyond the boundaries of civilized territories, but it's considered one of the most powerful of its kind. Their infantry is armed with swords, shields, bows, and various types of arrows. By Earth standards, this corresponds to the level of development of European countries during the High Middle Ages.

— Ah, so these are the ones who decided to seize Rodenius, — Anatoly remarked with a slight hint of irony in his voice.

— Couldn't agree more.

— I've heard that some of our scientists and soldiers took them, both for study and as trophies. They say some are even selling them on the black market.

— And what's that you've got there? — Anatoly Borisovich asked, turning his attention to the arquebus held by the man in the white coat.

— Anatoly Borisovich, we've conducted a full analysis of the magical muzzle-loading rifles of the Parpaldian Empire. Take a look at this! — he exclaimed, proudly showcasing his work.

— Put on some headphones, — Anatoly Borisovich suggested.

Once the research supervisor had donned the headphones, the tester turned toward the targets, gripped the fore-end, shouldered the weapon, cocked the lock with his thumb, took aim, and gently squeezed the trigger. The hammer struck the frizzen, and after three or four seconds, the wooden stock kicked against his shoulder. A loud bang rang out, and the lead bullet struck the middle ring of the target at a distance of three hundred meters, leaving a gaping hole.

— Funny… such accuracy from a muzzle-loading arquebus. Do they have granulated gunpowder? — Anatoly inquired, peering through the monocular rangefinder at the tester handling the arquebus.

— No, Anatoly Borisovich, — the tester replied, removing his ballistic goggles. — The Parpaldians don't have gunpowder, not in the slightest. It seems they've taken an entirely different path of development. Their weapons aren't based on a chemical reaction like ours but rather on the conversion of magical energy. The firing is powered by an enchanted powder, and it's nothing like our black powder, which, as you know, is made of saltpeter, charcoal, and sulfur. Based on our analysis, we're dealing with something fundamentally different here. We've detected traces of several unusual, yet-to-be-identified elements combined with quartz nanoparticles.

Picture a nanostructure threaded with a network of microscopic channels filled with these crystals. The hammer's strike generates mechanical stress in this structure, triggering a chain reaction that releases stored magical energy as a directed thermal pulse. It's as if the crystals act like tiny capacitors, while the powder itself serves as a resonance chamber, amplifying the effect. Unlike a chemical explosion, where energy comes from redox reactions, this is an instantaneous transformation of magical energy into kinetic energy, with no intermediate combustion stages. That's why there's no smoke and why we see that distinctive bright flash when it fires.

— See this stone in the hammer? — the tester continued after noticing a nod. — It's not flint; it's a magical stone. It seems to act as some kind of catalyst. When it strikes the frizzen, it hits this magical powder hard, causing it to glow, then rapidly heat up and transfer all its energy to the lead bullet.

But otherwise, this arquebus suffers from the same drawback as our Earth counterparts — a long reload time — though that's offset by its combat accuracy. The Parpaldians have followed an alternative branch of weapons development. Though their arquebuses look similar to our Earth analogs, like the fusée, on the outside, the magical lock functions much like a flintlock. It seems the Parpaldians evolved from matchlocks and wheellocks.

— Interesting… — the head of research thoughtfully rubbed his graying beard.

— Denis Denisovich, is there anything else interesting?

— Yes, Anatoly Borisovich. During our expedition to the Palace, we discovered some intriguing weapons. We're still conducting tests, so unfortunately, I can't say anything specific yet. Beyond that, we've also studied their magical stones—or more precisely, what they call the "Tears of the Wind God" in this world.

— Oh, those very same… magical stones used on their ships?

— Exactly, you're absolutely right. These are magical crystals, utterly vital to the Parpaldian Empire. They function like complex energy conversion systems, used to manipulate air currents. But unlike a simple mechanical device, these crystals require a constant supply of mana to operate. Imagine a crystal acting like a massive capacitor, but instead of electrons, it's charged with magical particles. Using specialized tools, they embed magical circuits into these crystals—think of them as "programs" designed to alter air pressure. These circuits are the finest threads of magical energy, woven into an intricate network within the crystal. Each thread acts like a microscopic reactor, storing and transforming magical energy. Depending on their complexity and the type of magic involved, these threads generate various kinds of air currents, from a gentle breeze to a powerful gust. By combining different magical threads, they can create sophisticated patterns to control airflow. Embedding these magical circuits is an incredibly precise and intricate process. They use ultra-fine tools inscribed with magical symbols to place and "anchor" these threads inside the crystal. It demands intense focus and strict adherence to magical rituals—any mistake could shatter the crystal or trigger unwanted side effects. So, the "Tears of the Wind God" aren't just magical crystals; they're highly advanced mechanisms that convert magical energy into the kinetic energy of wind.

— That does sound truly fascinating, — Anatoly said, gazing thoughtfully at the spent crystal in Denis's hands.

— Yes, Anatoly Borisovich, it confirms our suspicions that the principles at work here are vastly different from our own.

What particularly caught our attention, Denis continued, are their so-called Dragon Carriers. They're combat platforms, functionally similar to aircraft carriers, but designed for the takeoff and landing of wyverns. Essentially, they're "motherships for wyverns."

— According to our data, these ships reach impressive sizes, roughly between 80 and 120 meters in length. They can carry 15 to 20 wyverns on their decks, with platforms along their sides to facilitate takeoff and landing. The ships are primarily wooden in construction but reinforced with anti-magic steel to protect against magical attacks. Unfortunately, Dragon Carriers are highly vulnerable in close combat and rely heavily on their own air forces or escorts for defense. It seems that building such ships is a feat only the most advanced civilizations can achieve, though less developed nations try to mimic them with far less success. It's like trying to build a spaceship out of wood. From an engineering standpoint, it's simply unthinkable, yet they manage to pull it off.

Meanwhile, more advanced powers, like the Holy Mirishial Empire and Mu, are shifting their aviation toward jet and piston-engine fighters and modern aircraft carriers, making Dragon Carriers less practical. In nations that haven't reached that level of development, these ships are often mockingly called "mechanical" or "iron dragons." As for their main sailing ships of the line, their cannons boast firepower comparable to the colossal might of early 19th-century Earth. To draw a parallel with our home planet, if the Parpaldian Empire had emerged in the 17th or 18th century, neither the British Empire, the Russian Empire, the Holy Roman Empire, nor the French Empire could have stood against it in war—not even if those powers had formed a coalition.

— Anatoly frowned. — And that's not all, I presume?

— Unfortunately, no. Parpaldia's most terrifying trump card is its colossal army reserve. Under total mobilization, Parpaldia could field four million troops, though it would deal a massive blow to their economy.

— Denis paused, adjusting his glasses.

— Their second ace up the sleeve is their wyverns and ground dragons. Here, they serve as a kind of "combat unit." The artillery and small arms of that era—like muskets or early cannons—simply wouldn't be fast enough to hit these reptiles while they circled the skies at altitudes up to 4,000 meters, raining down their "fire charges" and incinerating entire battalions. Then their land-based kin, the ground dragons, would charge in, wiping out whatever resistance remained. Their use in aerial combat—a blend of natural abilities and magical enhancements—lets Parpaldia dominate less advanced foes, though they're vulnerable against modern Earth technology.

— Denis Denisovich, what can you tell me about the wyverns' combat capabilities? — Anatoly Borisovich asked, gazing thoughtfully at the tester.

— Anatoly Borisovich, we've analyzed data on the wyverns used by the Parpaldian Empire after the battle. The locals call their attacks "magic fire bullets."

— Anatoly Borisovich, we've studied the Parpaldian wyverns in detail. The locals refer to their attacks as "magic fire bullets," but there's a complex biological and magical process behind it. Wyverns have a specialized organ—likely a gland near the throat or esophagus—that produces a viscous, flammable substance, something like a mix of napalm and resin. This substance is released in small doses and mixes with air when they exhale.

— The attack mechanism works like this: the wyvern uses "wind magic" to generate a powerful, directed airstream from its mouth. This stream breaks the viscous substance into tiny droplets, turning it into an aerosol. Then "fire magic"—possibly a biochemical process in their body, like a spark from friction in specialized tissues or the release of a catalyst—ignites the aerosol. The result is a concentrated, burning projectile that bursts on impact, spreading burns and setting everything around it ablaze.

— So the process depends on wind direction? — Anatoly clarified, raising an eyebrow.

— Exactly. The wyvern has to extend its neck and align its torso so the airstream from its mouth flows straight ahead. That's essential for forming and launching the fireball. They can't shoot sideways or backward—only forward, where their head is pointing. That's their weakness: in combat, they have to maneuver their whole body, which limits their agility.

— Sounds pretty inconvenient, — Anatoly noted, rubbing his chin.

— Agreed. It makes them cumbersome in a fight. Plus, their flight has its own limitations. Their wings likely span about 10 to 12 meters, letting them reach speeds of up to 235 kilometers per hour for regular ones and 360 kilometers per hour for Wyvern Lords. Scientifically speaking, their flight is possible thanks to powerful chest muscles and a light yet sturdy skeleton, reinforced by magical elements from the mountain rocks where they live. These elements might affect their metabolism, making their bones both lightweight and resistant to stress. But for takeoff, they need a running start on a dirt strip—at least 80 to 100 meters. The exception is rare specimens that might have a mutation allowing vertical takeoff, using enhanced wind magic to generate lift. Still, as living creatures, they need food, water, shelter, and they're susceptible to disease and fatigue in prolonged battles. They're valuable as ground attackers, but their air superiority is limited.

And what about the Wyvern Lords? — Anatoly asked.

— These elite wyverns are bigger, faster, and more powerful. Their fire attacks are stronger due to a larger volume of flammable substance and more intense magical enhancement. A speed of 360 kilometers per hour makes them a threat even to early aircraft, like World War I biplanes, which they could easily destroy thanks to their maneuverability and the fragility of those wooden-and-fabric designs. But their thick scales, capable of withstanding regular arrows, can be pierced by 12.7-millimeter bullets. Against guided missiles, they're completely helpless—the kinetic energy would simply shred their tissues. Wyvern Lords are a sort of elite among wyverns, but unlike regular ones, they suffer from reduced fertility, producing offspring only once. It's likely tied to genomic changes from their creation.

Denis adjusted his glasses again.

— Their magic recovery is fascinating too. After an attack, they need just a day of rest to replenish their stocks of flammable substance and "magical energy"—perhaps due to a rapid metabolism and specific minerals in their diet, like grains or plants rich in those elements. But if they're wounded, they become more vulnerable. All in all, wyverns are a fearsome weapon against primitive armies, but against modern technology, their days are numbered.

Anatoly shook his head thoughtfully. — And what can you tell me about the ground dragons?

Denis replied: — Ground dragons, or as the locals call them, "earth dragons," are enormous, wingless creatures found only in the Parpaldian Empire. They look like giant caiman turtles with spikes on their heads and necks, growing to twice the size of an elephant. They've got sturdy armor and can breathe fire. It might not be fire as we know it, though—more like superheated plasma. That makes them a highly effective tool on the battlefield. Their shells protect them from regular arrows, though they're susceptible to musket fire. It seems their armor is more of an organic composite, and it can't handle high-velocity impacts. The Parpaldians have even crafted armor for them, but it's mostly used in the capital's garrison. They can carry troops and tow magical artillery, serving as a kind of living tank. Against 19th-century powers, they could hold their ground, and the fight would be pretty even. But against 20th-century powers, Parpaldia wouldn't have a prayer by default.

— Thank you for the work you've done, Denis Denisovich. And what can you tell me about… the Holy Mirishial Empire?

— The HME, according to the locals, is the mightiest power in this world. They're regarded as the most powerful nation here. Their technology is rooted in magic, unlike ours. For now, it's like a black hole to us. They have what's called the Zero Magic Fleet—the crown jewel of their naval achievements. We don't know much about its capabilities, but from what we've pieced together, their warships match the tonnage and purpose of World War II-era vessels. They're armed with cannons mounted in rotating turrets, though in photos, they look like futuristic ships.

We'd need more samples, Anatoly Borisovich. As unfortunate as it sounds, I can't draw any conclusions just from photographs. It's not just about materials or design—it's about the principles that drive them. We need to figure out how magic is woven into their engineering. We'd need data on alloy compositions, energy signatures, enchantment techniques… Basically, a thorough analysis, which we can't do without access to samples. Photos only give us a surface-level glimpse. We really need more samples.

— We'll make it happen, Denis Denisovich, — the research supervisor assured him.

— And what can you tell me about the Gra-Valkas Empire?

— A belligerent and gutsy nation.

The Gra-Valkas Empire is a warlike and determined state, boasting technology on par with mid-20th-century standards. Gra-Valkas poses a threat to us, and we'd be wise to keep our guard up around them. While we were busy playing nice with the locals, Gra-Valkas grabbed the bull by the horns. Their aggressive policy showed itself in a lightning-fast invasion of Leifor's territory without a formal declaration of war, letting them subdue the region in no time.

— There's a specific reason for that, Denis Denisovich.

— What reason? — the tester asked, puzzled.

— In the Kingdom of Paganda, we've been told, one of the Gra-Valkas Emperor's sons was attacked. Some local chief ordered their ambassador hanged for insolence. Up until then, as you put it, Gra-Valkas had been playing nice, trying to find common ground with the natives. But after that serious crime, Gra-Valkas wiped out the entire royal family in the town square and crucified the chief who gave the order.

— Interesting… now I get it, and I don't blame the Gra-Valkas. It looks like the laws at play here aren't just scientific but ethical too, — the tester chuckled, rubbing his beard.

— Beyond their warlike nature, Gra-Valkas also has serious technological chops. There's evidence of a battleship used in the destruction of Leifor's former capital. That ship resembles a famous historical battleship, renowned for its power and cutting-edge design. Analysis, including satellite imagery, confirms similarities in size, gun placement, and armament characteristics. Accounts from surviving Leiforian soldiers point to the use of airburst munitions, suggesting technologies like proximity fuses, which require advanced electronics.

— If they're at a World War II level, that means they're already using submarines and battleships.

— Their submarines are likely diesel-electric, like those from World War II. Limited range, modest speed, armament mostly torpedoes. And the battleship, reminiscent of Japan's Yamato—formidable for the mid-20th century with its large-caliber guns, but clearly outdated by today's standards. For our ships, it's just a big target.

— It was surprising to see a real Yamato in this world, but when you think about it, it's practically an antique.

— I completely agree with you.

— Hmm, and how could we counter an opponent like that with our ships? — Anatoly Borisovich asked with curiosity.

— The technological edge of our ships is obvious. Let's start with submarines. Russian subs, like the nuclear-powered ones in the Northern Fleet, have near-unlimited endurance and high speed. They're armed with cruise missiles like the Kalibr and self-guided torpedoes. That lets them hit targets at vast distances with precision Gra-Valkas couldn't even dream of.

— And what about their battleships? The Yamato-class and others were fearsome in their day, but now they're more museum pieces than real threats, right?

— Absolutely. Gra-Valkas battleships rely on large-caliber artillery, but it's limited in range and accuracy. Modern Russian frigates and corvettes, like the Project 22350 or 20380 designs, are equipped with anti-ship missiles like the Onyx and Kalibr. These missiles can strike targets hundreds of kilometers away, staying well out of range of their guns. Plus, we've got air defense systems and electronic warfare (EW) gear that would wipe out any chance they have of mounting a successful attack.

— But could their submarines cause us trouble? Torpedoes are still a threat, aren't they?

— Theoretically, yes, but only if we don't play to our strengths. Our ships come with cutting-edge sonar systems that would easily pick up those outdated subs. Throw in anti-submarine helicopters and torpedoes of our own, and Gra-Valkas's odds drop to zero. Even if they manage to launch torpedoes, our defense systems can intercept them or throw them off course.

— And if their battleships try to engage in combat? Say, a head-on clash?

— They'd lose in a straight fight too. We can hit them with missiles from a safe distance, and their artillery wouldn't even reach us. On top of that, our ships have missile defense systems capable of shooting down even artillery shells if they get within range.

— So, despite their aggression and fleet, Gra-Valkas is way outmatched by us in military tech?

— Exactly. Their submarines and battleships might've been a threat to mid-20th-century navies, but against 21st-century Russian ships, they don't stand a chance. Our technology is on a whole different level. And I reckon they're not dumb enough—like some of the locals—to attack without sizing up their opponent first.

— Fair point. Well, I'll swing by Alexey Mikhailovich's office and hash this out in more detail. You keep at it—continue the analysis, — he said, bidding farewell to the scientists and Denis Denisovich before heading toward the exit of the testing range.

Thirty minutes later. Research Complex No. 2.

— Hello, Alexey Mikhailovich.

— Hello, Anatoly Borisovich, — the office's occupant greeted his colleague. — Tea? Coffee?

— Coffee.

After the secretary brought two cups of coffee, the two men continued their conversation.

— Lyosha, have you made any progress on the incident from the expedition to Qua-Toyne?

— You mean our fighter jet?

— Yeah, the higher-ups are really worked up about it and keep asking questions. They can't wrap their heads around how one of our military units ended up here, eighty years before we arrived. There's no top secret paperwork, and it doesn't seem like anyone from our side was transported here before. Zero info! A total blank! This should've been the FSB's headache, not ours. But, — Anatoly gestured toward the ceiling, — the folks up there decided otherwise. Bottom line, they want you to build a portal back to Earth, no matter the cost.

Alexey choked on his coffee and coughed.

— We're totally screwed on that front, Tolya. Look, we're retraining archmages who've got some skills worth a damn. But people a century or two older than you? Good luck reteaching them anything. And besides, how do you even picture transferring an entire continent back? With all the infrastructure and people? It's beyond imagination. From an energy efficiency standpoint and the laws of conservation, it's a flat-out disaster. Can you imagine how much energy that would take? I don't know who dragged us here, but they want something from us. Anyway, with our arrival, there should've been tsunamis wiping out everything alive on Rodenius! We've got autumn, winter, spring, and summer rolling along just like they did before the transfer.

"We've done extensive research, and guess what we found?" — The office's host looked at his guest, who, after sipping his coffee, silently asked with his eyes, "What's that?"

— Here's the thing: according to probability models, in eighty out of a hundred scenarios, we should've been toast! Cataclysms from sudden shifts in the gravitational field, radiation levels, and atmospheric differences would've done us in. The odds of surviving something like that are next to zilch. But it didn't happen, and that points to our transfer being pulled off with tech that can manipulate the fundamental laws of physics. It looks like someone used a method you could roughly call creating a 'stable zone' or a 'spatial bubble.'

Our data suggests we're inside some kind of quasi-stationary field that seems to shield us from this planet's hostile environment. We've noticed our diseases have limited spread, barely reaching beyond this field, while foreign organisms can't adapt to our pathogens and end up dying off. That hints at our spatial bubble having an active filtration and adaptation feature, keeping alien biological agents from spreading.

The weird behavior of climate systems in this new territory backs up this theory too. In Murmansk, for instance, the climate's shifted big time, which could tie into the field adapting to local conditions, while other regions still have the weather we're used to—pretty unlikely for a transfer to another planet. And here's the kicker: we're not seeing mass extinctions, no major infrastructure damage has been reported, and even the fleet came through without a scratch. This quasi-stationary field might act like a barrier, blocking viruses while also offsetting any potential spatial distortions, keeping all our systems intact. It's way beyond our grasp of known physics. You see where I'm going with this, Anatoly? We're not dealing with just some tech here—it's something you could call a miracle.

— Yeah… — the guest leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. — What higher power wanted us in this world and carved us out of our home turf with surgical precision to plop us here? And most importantly—for what purpose?

— Exactly, Tolya! I've been an atheist my whole life, but now even I'm starting to believe in a creator. My rock-solid skepticism's got a crack in it. And we'd better not tick off this higher power. Every person living on this patch of land is a witness to those very forces. Right now, we can't even dream of transferring all of Russia back to Earth—we can't even open a portal to somewhere like Rodenius. The archmages say it's possible, and they're racking their brains alongside my team, trying to figure out how to open a portal the size of an egg, at least.

— Got it, Lyosha. I'll pass it along to the brass.

— There's also some intriguing news from the third complex.

— What's that? — Anatoly asked, taking the last sip of his coffee.

— Remember Kar-Amik, out in the Central World?

— Yeah, didn't our guys strike a deal with them for mining resources?

— That's beside the point. Anyway, Arthur Igorevich's research teams ran an expedition through some old ruins, and guess what they found?

— What'd they find?

— The equivalent of nuclear weapons. Those ruins belonged to the Ancient Magical Empire, and they uncovered records and blueprints for something called "Core Magic." That weapon was used in a war between the Dragon Empire and Ravernal.

Among the discoveries were hollow stone pillars and a stone tablet with illustrations and descriptions of this magical core. The tablet lays out the basic principles of how it works: it's a cylindrical stone pillar containing spherical cores and explosive components inside. Based on the reconstructed records, Core Magic triggers a chain reaction that resembles nuclear fission, but it's grounded in completely different laws.

Inside a device resembling a ballistic missile lies a magical detonator. Its casing, crafted from alloys resistant to extreme stress, is designed to withstand the immense pressure and temperatures generated during activation. Yet the true power of this weapon lies not in its metal but in its core—a complex structure woven from crystalline streams of magical energy, which the ancient Ravernal race, as we've learned, called the "ethereal core."

The process begins with the activation of the detonator, which employs explosive magic—a discipline blending kinetic force with mystical incantations. Explosive elements positioned around the spherical cores are triggered simultaneously, generating concentrated waves of pressure. These waves, amplified by magical runes etched into the inner surface of the casing, compress the ethereal core from all sides. An inscription on a tablet attached to the device reads: "A cascade of events beyond control."

At first glance, the process resembles nuclear fission: the compression of material triggers a chain reaction, unleashing vast amounts of energy. However, the Ravernal records we've reconstructed reveal a different nature to this phenomenon. Unlike an atomic nucleus, where energy is derived from splitting heavy elements like uranium, this process involves the transmutation of magical energy. The ethereal core consists of crystalline lattices infused with magic that stabilizes their structure. Under intense pressure, these lattices collapse, releasing the energy stored within them in the form of a tremendous surge.

From a scientific perspective, the process can be described as the conversion of potential energy, stored in a magical field, into the kinetic and thermal energy of an explosion. The pressure generated by the detonator reaches millions of atmospheres, comparable to conditions at the core of a star, but instead of thermonuclear fusion or fission, what occurs is a "magical fission." The energy is released not from atomic bonds but from ethereal nodes, which the Ravernals mastered creating and controlling.

— Wait a sec, Lyosha, are you saying they're using some kind of magical fission? — Anatoly interrupted, furrowing his brows.

— In a way, yeah, Tolya. But not quite like we're used to. It seems they can split not an atomic nucleus but an ethereal one, unleashing a massive burst of energy. And here's the kicker—there's no radioactive fallout or other side effects we'd see with a nuclear blast. Even though the explosion's power can hit around 50 megatons, its destructive force isn't rooted in nuclear physics but in magical energy. Essentially, they're transforming the very structure of the magical field, releasing the energy locked inside it. It's like if we figured out how to directly tap into vacuum energy.

It looks like they use special "spells" or "formulas" to create this weapon—think of them as "codes" for controlling magical energy. It's as if we printed a manual for assembling a nuclear bomb. These spells and formulas are "imprinted" into the ethereal core, and they're what guide the chain reaction. The whole setup is powered by a magical propulsion system, different from the compressed-air tech the Mirishials used in their "sky-floating ships."

This system lifts the weapon into the upper atmosphere, where it follows a controlled trajectory to its target before dropping down on it.

From our calculations, the range of these "magic bombs" exceeds 50,000 kilometers! That's almost three times the range of our Sarmat—Russia's longest-range missile, clocking in at about 18,000 kilometers!

This is no joke!

Arthur's sending the data to your complex. Ravernal was more advanced in tech and didn't shy away from using this weapon against the ancestors of the Aymorians.

Anatoly fell silent for a moment, digesting the info, then said with quiet astonishment: "Fifty thousand kilometers… That's just unreal! But if that's the case, we've got to take it as fact. Send the data over—we'll dig into it." He leaned back in his chair, adding with a touch of grim irony: "Things just keep getting more and more interesting…"

— And that's not all. The third research complex analyzed genetic material from the "demons" of the Topa Kingdom, and the results are pretty telling. Our experts concluded these aren't random mutations but the product of deliberate genetic engineering. According to local accounts, these creatures were artificially created by Ravernal to wipe out all life in this world.

Here's what we found: their genetic code contains artificially inserted sequences that don't occur in nature. We discovered they tampered with genes tied to growth and regeneration, which explains their strength and resilience.

This means Ravernal has deep expertise in genome editing and manipulation at the molecular level.

Our researchers think they've learned to use magical energy to precisely target DNA, letting them craft creatures with specific traits. It's basically magical genetic engineering on a microscopic scale, enabling them to create beings like these. That makes them a far bigger threat than we'd assumed. Their ability to create what you called a "unnatural blend of magic and science" elevates their tech to a whole new level, which is, no doubt, a seriously bad scenario for us.

The first sign of putting magic on a scientific footing is this "Core Magic." A weapon of mass destruction using magic as its destructive force—that's lights out, toss the grenade.

— Got it, — Anatoly nodded to his counterpart. — Have you told the brass what you just told me?

— Yeah, they said to keep working as usual. No stirring up pointless panic.

With that, the conversation shifted to casual chatter. Rumors, catching up about friends and family over a cup of coffee. Normally, their schedules didn't allow for this, but now the old buddies seized the chance to just shoot the breeze.