Time dialed back to three months ago, Holy Britannia Empire, London.

The ultimatum given by the "Eternal Queen" Victoria at the Privy Council made both the Director General of Military Intelligence and Master Graham of the Highland Mage Order feel unprecedented pressure.

The former had finally gotten the Military Intelligence Directorate on the right track with great difficulty, and it was in a stage of rapid development.

And the latter was trying to persuade Victoria to agree to the "Antarctic Project."

So for both of them, prioritizing fulfilling Her Majesty’s orders was the only way to better advance their subsequent tasks.

After the meeting ended, the two walked out of that heavy door almost simultaneously, looking at each other speechlessly, the atmosphere awkward to the extreme.

The Highland Mage Order and the Military Intelligence Directorate could be said to have "long-standing grievances"...

From Seville, which interfered in the Aragonese Kingdom’s civil war, to the Battle of Amiens after the outbreak of the all-out war, the Highland Mages had paid heavy prices more than once due to the mistakes of the intelligence department.

Every loss was a heart-wrenching pain for the mage community, whose numbers were already sparse.

Not to mention that this included two important high-tier mages.

And for the Military Intelligence Directorate, which had just been established not long ago and was eager to prove itself, the Highland Mage Order’s condescending attitude and undisguised complaints also made them hold a bellyful of fire.

But in the face of the Queen’s anger and the Empire’s interests, any internal conflicts had to be temporarily shelved.

At least on the surface, they had to do this.

"Master Graham..."

In the end, it was still Humphrey, the Director of the Military Intelligence Directorate, a middle-aged man who looked shrewd and capable, who broke the silence first. He took the initiative to lower his posture towards the high-tier mage in the gorgeous robe beside him.

"I admit that there have been some flaws in the intelligence department’s previous work, but Her Majesty’s will must be executed. For the glory of the Empire, our two sides must cooperate fully."

Master Graham glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and finally nodded with that arrogance toward ordinary people.

"I hope this time, your intelligence will be a bit more useful than that waste paper from before."

Although the tone was still unkind, this was already the beginning of cooperation.

And the two sides quickly reached a consensus: the Military Intelligence Directorate was responsible for gathering all detailed information related to Morin, and the Highland Mage Order would formulate a specific hunting plan based on this information.

The task assignment was clear, but execution was fraught with difficulties.

Intelligence work during this period was still in an extremely primitive exploratory stage, without that much high-tech equipment for assistance.

The espionage personnel of the Military Intelligence Directorate racked their brains and mobilized all resources they could use within the Saxon Empire, trying to piece together a complete portrait of that young officer named Friedrich Morin.

A few weeks later, a thin report was delivered to Director Humphrey’s desk.

The report contained a few blurry photos taken from a long distance.

The young man in the photos had a handsome face, but his expression revealed a steadiness unsuited to his age.

The report also included some basic information: promoted to Army Lieutenant Colonel after the Battle of Paris, formed a brand-new unit, and the intricate network of relationships between Morin, Madam Falkenstein, General Mackensen, and others...

In terms of results, there was basically no valuable content in this report—especially for the hunting operation that was about to unfold. But just to get this information, the Military Intelligence Directorate had already paid a bloody price.

Two elite intelligence teams lurking in the Saxon Empire, equipped with radio transceivers, were exposed during the operation and arrested entirely. Since 1910, the Holy Britannia Empire had only successfully sent six such teams to the Saxon Empire.

According to the Military Intelligence Directorate’s plan, they were supposed to be the core nodes of the Empire’s future intelligence network, but now one-third was lost at once.

Even their informants, whom they had developed with great difficulty, were uprooted by the Saxon intelligence agency—which the Britannians considered "incompetent." The loss was so heavy that the Director’s heart was bleeding.

If these sacrifices could be exchanged for decisive intelligence, it could be considered a worthy death.

But now, this report, besides giving the higher-ups a preliminary understanding of the background of this person Morin, was almost no help in formulating a precise hunting operation.

Its only value might be that the few interpersonal relationships mentioned in the report provided another possible breakthrough direction for future operations...

Helplessly, the Director of the Military Intelligence Directorate and the Head of Section VI could only brace themselves and, carrying these "results," sought out the Highland Mage Order again.

"This is what you traded a month and the loss of two teams for?"

In a conference room of the Mage Tower, a high-tier mage unceremoniously threw the report on the table, his tone full of sarcasm.

"A few blurry photos and some semi-public information that can be obtained within Saxony? Are you expecting us to use these things to curse him to death?"

Facing such humiliation, the Head of Section VI’s face turned ashen, but he couldn’t refute it.

He could only cast a pleading look at Director Humphrey, who waved his hand signaling him to be patient.

Just as Director Humphrey judged in his heart, since it concerned their subsequent operations, the Highland Mage Order didn’t equivocate this time. After saying a few words, they got down to business.

"Since we can’t count on your methods, then let us solve it our own way."

Master Graham spoke slowly, stopping the disrespectful remarks of the other mages under him.

"Within the Empire, you are not the only ones who possess the ability to detect secrets."

He waved his hand, and an attendant quickly left the conference room.

A moment later, a figure appeared at the door.

It was a man who looked older than all the mages present. His eyes were blindfolded with a black cloth strip, his pace was slow, supported by an apprentice.

However, the instant he appeared, all the mages in the conference room, including Master Graham, stood up.

"Master Ollivander."

The Head of MI6 felt a stir in his heart.

He knew this person, one of the only two Divination School mages in the Highland Mage Order, a genuine Tier-6 Diviner.

As for the other Divination School mage... it was this apprentice beside him.

Not to mention the Divination School in the Highland Mage Order, even among the mage communities of this world, they were an extremely rare existence. The most famous spell of the entire school among the mage community of this world was the Tier-3 [Clairvoyance].

This was basically a spell that military mages would prepare in their spell slots.

But at the same time, the mages of this school were also somewhat awkward, because the mages of the Divination School had always been extremely rare.

And other than learning the first Divination School spell directly by acquiring the talent to peek at fragments of fate while awakening as a spellcaster, there was no other way to become a Divination School mage; even retraining didn’t work.

This extremely high threshold resulted in the Divination School having almost no development for hundreds of years. Even those incredibly talented archmages failed to deduce what a Tier-9 Divination spell actually looked like.

Seeing the Highland Mage Order actually invite out such a figure, a glimmer of hope rekindled in the hearts of Director Humphrey and the Head of Section VI. Perhaps, magic really could perform miracles... couldn’t it?

In Master Ollivander’s private space, the air was filled with the smell of expensive ambergris and the burning of some unknown herbs. There was no natural light in this fully enclosed space, only a few magitech lamps emitting a faint blue glow.

Director Humphrey of the Military Intelligence Directorate and the Head of Section VI appeared somewhat cramped.

Here, their sense of secular power that controlled everything completely vanished, replaced by an awe of the unknown—or rather, a kind of discomfort.

Tier-6 Diviner Ollivander sat in the center of a rug covered in runes. His black-cloth-blindfolded eyes seemed to be able to penetrate the material world and stare at higher-dimensional existences.

The Director of the Military Intelligence Directorate, the Head of Section VI, and several high-ranking members of the Highland Mage Order all stood on the periphery with bated breath, not daring to make any sound for fear of disturbing this sacred ritual.

This was the Tier-4 spell, [Divination].

The spellcaster exchanges for a vague revelation about a target by offering sacrifices and respect to some mysterious existence.

This revelation is generally presented in the form of a short phrase, a short poem, or a song.

Master Ollivander’s goal was very clear: he wanted to know exactly how powerful that Saxon officer named Friedrich Morin was.

As his low incantation sounded, green smoke curled up from the burning herbs in the center of the room, spiraling and condensing in the air, but delayed in forming any meaningful pattern.

Ollivander’s brow furrowed slightly; this was an unprecedented situation.

And just as everyone thought the ritual was about to fail, suddenly, the old mage’s whole body shook, as if he had been electrocuted.

He opened his mouth and, in a weird, stiff language that completely didn’t belong to this world, roared a sentence loudly:

"Wo-cao! Zhe-ge-bi-jue-dui-kai-gua-le!" (What the fuck! This son of a bitch definitely used cheats!)

The tone was very angry, and very... righteous!

After roaring this sentence, the oppressive atmosphere in the room instantly vanished.

Ollivander slumped to the ground, panting heavily, like he had just finished a marathon.

"How is it?"

A high-tier mage of the Highland Mage Order immediately rushed forward to support him.

"Master Ollivander, what is the result of the Divination spell?"

The two from the Military Intelligence Directorate also gathered around with expectant faces.

The old mage took a long time to recover before shakily raising his head, his face full of confusion and bewilderment.

"I... I heard it."

"Heard what?"

"It was a language that has never appeared before..."

The old mage swallowed his saliva. He possessed an arcane tradition called [Comprehend Languages], which gave him extraordinary comprehension sufficient to decipher any language. But for this sentence, he understood every pronunciation, yet completely couldn’t comprehend the meaning when combined.

"What is it? Is it Morin’s weakness? Or the time of his death?"

Director Humphrey asked eagerly, but Master Ollivander didn’t answer immediately, continuing to recall.

Was that some slang from a Saxon dialect just now?

He repeatedly chewed over this baffling sentence, trying to parse even the slightest bit of useful information from it, but ultimately found nothing. After a long time, he wearily opened those eyes that couldn’t see and shook his head.

"I cannot decipher this prophecy."

His voice revealed a deep sense of frustration.

"The revelation given by that existence... is beyond my cognition."

Hearing this result, a flash of unconcealable disappointment crossed the face of the Head of MI6.

The faces of the several Highland Mage Order mages present weren’t very good-looking either. After all, this was considered losing big face in front of the people from the Military Intelligence Directorate.

But they still comforted: "It’s fine, Master. Perhaps it’s because there is too little information about that person, causing a deviation in the prophecy..." Ollivander also nodded: "Yes, maybe we can try other methods."

Next, with the assistance of the others, this Divination School mage prepared to cast the Tier-5 spell [Scrying].

Once this spell is successfully cast, it can directly display the scene of the target’s current location in front of the spellcaster.

To increase the success rate, the people from the Military Intelligence Directorate specially brought those blurry photos to use together as casting materials.

Because the success rate of [Scrying] is directly linked to the spellcaster’s degree of understanding of the target person.

Ollivander pressed his hands on the crystal ball, his mental energy highly concentrated, trying to lock onto the coordinates of that young officer in the vast sea of humanity. The light inside the crystal ball began to flow and converge, gradually revealing some blurry images.

However, just at the instant the image was about to become clear, a thick, impenetrable fog suddenly enveloped the entire crystal ball, obscuring everything.

"Pfft—"

Ollivander, as if struck by a heavy blow, violently spewed a mouthful of blood, his body falling backward.

"Master!"

The surrounding mages exclaimed and stepped forward to support him.

"How can it be... What level of mage is he actually, how could the scrying fail?!"

Ollivander wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and said weakly.

Over the next two days, refusing to believe in the evil, he tried two more times, but each time ended in failure, and the backlash was more severe each time. By the third day, this proud Tier-6 Diviner was so weak he couldn’t get out of bed.

Now, the people from the Military Intelligence Directorate and Section VI couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The expressions they looked at the Highland mages with were full of undisguised questioning—so you mock our intelligence capabilities being poor every day... after all this time, the magic you are so proud of is only at this level?

The plan to hunt Morin seemed to have fallen into a deadlock at this point.

Whether conventional means or supernatural power, neither could accurately locate and evaluate the target.

Were they really going to give up?

But the cold gaze of the "Eternal Queen" once again surfaced in the minds of the Military Intelligence Director and the Mage Order leaders.

They knew very well that this iron-fisted Queen might temporarily forget this matter, but one day she would suddenly remember it and then use that emotionless tone to inquire about the progress.

At that time, any excuse would be pale.

The plan had to continue.

After an oppressive secret meeting, the two sides reached a new consensus:

Since a precise decapitation strike couldn’t be carried out, then they would switch to carrying out a forced hunt in the chaotic battlefield using the most direct and brutal method. "Since he likes staying on the front line, then let him be torn to pieces on the front line."

A high-tier mage of the Highland Mage Order said coldly.

It was also at this meeting that a long-dusted plan was brought up again.

"Spell Jaegers."

When the Head of Section VI said this word, the Highland mages present all showed strange expressions.

Because this plan was once a bold attempt by the Highland Mage Order.

They tried to train a group of special combat mages who were proficient in light weapons and also mastered basic spells, letting them act like jaegers (light infantry/hunters) to execute high-difficulty missions on the frontline battlefield.

But the plan was quickly halted due to two fatal problems.

First, the number of mages was simply too small. Even low-tier mages below Tier-3 couldn’t withstand that scale of attrition on the battlefield. Second, the vast majority of mages accustomed to meditation and research simply couldn’t complete those rigorous physical and tactical training. This plan was therefore considered one of the most failed investments in the history of the Mage Order.

However, when the Head of Section VI brought out the follow-up investigation report, everyone was stunned.

This plan, which the higher-ups thought had been shut down long ago, had actually been running silently for many years in a remote country estate in Norfolk County in a manner almost akin to "letting it rot."

There, twelve low-tier mage apprentices eliminated by the mainstream mage circles had been conducting shooting and physical training day after day under the guidance of some veterans.

Over these years, their magical attainments had almost no great progress, but everyone’s marksmanship and tactical literacy had reached the level of the Empire’s elite infantry.

So in the eyes of the Highland Mage Order and the Military Intelligence Directorate, they might be more suitable to deal with Morin than those "traditional mages." And while the senior management of the Highland Mage Order felt the unexpected joy of a harvest, it also made them realize that there might be major problems with the internal management of the Mage Order, otherwise it would be impossible for such a project to continue burning money...

"Operation Queen’s Blade Evaluation Committee..."

When this name was proposed, Director Humphrey of the Military Intelligence Directorate almost spat out the cigar in his mouth.

As a man who slowly climbed up from a military attaché stationed abroad to the position of "intelligence boss," he originally thought that after reaching a consensus with the Highland Mage Order, this special hunting squad could be immediately formed and put into action.

But obviously, he still underestimated the powerful inertia of the Holy Britannia Empire’s bureaucratic system.

According to tradition, any military operation involving cross-departments, especially involving a special force like the Mage Order, must establish a dedicated committee for evaluation.

Euphemistically called "ensuring the rigor and feasibility of the operation, being responsible to Her Majesty and every penny of the Empire."

So, over the next month, a secret office in London was piled high with various complicated documents.

From personnel background checks, to equipment procurement lists, to engagement plans under different situations, everything was transformed into pages of cold reports, waiting for the bright red seals of the committee members.

Until a certain night in early December, which was the night before the evaluation committee made its decision, Director Humphrey of the Military Intelligence Directorate finally couldn’t bear it anymore.

Holding a final operation report, he knocked on the door of the office of Secretary of State for War Kitchener.

"Your Excellency the Secretary, I believe we cannot wait any longer."

He placed the report in front of Kitchener, his tone somewhat urgent.

"The frontline battle situation is tight. That Morin could create something new that we cannot cope with again at any time. We must..." Kitchener raised his hand and interrupted him.

This Field Marshal with his iconic thick mustache didn’t even glance at the report, just unhurriedly took out a bottle of brandy and two glasses from the liquor cabinet.

"Don’t worry, my friend."

He poured wine for both of them, then leaned back in his chair and spoke leisurely.

"I guess this report should be suggesting that we form two eleven-man hunting squads with those twelve ’Spell Jaegers’ as the core, supplemented by experienced heavy armor sergeants..."

The Military Intelligence Director’s hand holding the wine glass stopped in mid-air.

Field Marshal Kitchener seemed to not notice his surprise and continued:

"Team A is responsible for standing by on the front line, and Team B serves as a reserve... During the operation, use the attack of conventional troops as cover to quickly penetrate into the target area."

"Once the target is discovered, immediately use special magic crystal signal flares to mark it, and then Team A executes the forced kill. If Team A fails, Team B is responsible for carrying out a secondary ambush or returning to the assembly area..."

He repeated the core content of the report almost word for word.

Director Humphrey of MI6 was completely stunned. After a long while, he squeezed out a sentence.

"You... since you know everything, why establish that committee?"

Field Marshal Kitchener picked up his wine glass, clinked it gently with his, and a meaningful smile appeared on his face.

"Humphrey, isn’t what we are best at establishing a committee to decide a matter that we already knew how to do long ago?" These straightforward words also made the two smile at each other and down the brandy in their glasses in one gulp.

Ultimately, just as Kitchener predicted, after delaying for several weeks, the evaluation committee finally announced that the plan was feasible. Operation "Queen’s Blade" formally began execution.

By this time, it was already December 10th.

In the following time, the 12 surviving "Spell Jaegers," plus the specially selected elite heavy armor sergeants with rich combat experience, were divided into Teams A and B and stood by at the port of Southampton.

When the instruction unit was redeployed to the Buchy front line, the Britannian Military Intelligence Directorate finally obtained the intelligence that "the instruction unit left the camp area." Combined with the intelligence of the Saxon First Army Group supplementing personnel, equipment, and increasing ammunition supply recently, intelligence personnel guessed that the instruction unit might cooperate with the First Army Group to carry out some large-scale military operation.

Under this not entirely certain situation, Team B continued to stay in Southampton on standby, while Team A crossed the Channel as fast as possible and deployed to the Rouen front line.

During this process, an official from Section VI of the Military Intelligence Directorate responsible for leading the team, as well as the Commander-in-Chief of the Expeditionary Force, John French, realized they might have missed a best opportunity after receiving the detailed report on the Christmas Eve truce.

The Saxon Lieutenant Colonel described in the report appearing on the frontline position now seemed highly likely to be Morin himself...

After all, whether it was Saxony or Britannia, it was very difficult to find a field officer who liked staying in the first firing trench.