High up in the sky.
While the flame dragons were still locked in combat with the ground forces, the vanguard squadron of fighter jets had already run into trouble.
Aircraft, being precision-engineered machines, are extremely susceptible to external conditions. That's why every flight is preceded by detailed forecasts of both weather and environmental factors—to avoid being struck by lightning or colliding with flocks of migrating birds.
This time was no exception.
The intelligence department had assured them that no rain would fall within the week and that no migratory bird activity was expected in the region.
But the moment the pilots flew straight into a thundercloud, they immediately began cursing out the intelligence officers' mothers.
A thunderstorm.
And not just any thunderstorm, but an extremely violent one!
Bolts of white lightning slithered through the clouds like colossal serpents. Each time a section of their bodies emerged from the cloud cover, a blinding flash of light followed.
One of the pilots, faced with the terrifying spectacle, began speaking over the radio: "I think we should…"
Everyone knew what he was going to say—probably suggesting a drop in altitude.
The squadron leader had already prepared to give the go-ahead. In weather like this, flying either higher or lower was standard protocol. It was that awkward middle altitude where accidents were most likely.
But the pilot didn't get to finish his sentence.
BOOM!
With a deafening roar, tens of thousands of lightning bolts exploded simultaneously!
Blinding white light lit up the entire sky, turning the thunderclouds themselves a stark, glowing white.
And the fighter jets flying through those clouds?
They didn't even last a second—struck by countless lightning bolts at once.
Fueled by internal combustion systems and warhead payloads, the aircraft instantly became massive fireballs, burning as they fell, dyeing the sky with crimson fire.
After the jets were dealt with, no further enemies remained within the detection range of the barrier.
And yet, Orsaga's precognition abilities continued to alert him.
This was far from over.
The threat still came from the sky. From an altitude even higher than that of the now-destroyed jet squadron.
After a quiet wait of more than ten minutes…
Several new targets entered the detection field of the barrier.
Orsaga could clearly sense them—moving at speeds far surpassing those of fighter jets, rapidly approaching his position.
He probed their shapes and flight patterns, then casually thought to himself:
'Intercontinental missiles carrying nuclear warheads? Deploying something like that in the center of London… Looks like their war council must've gone well. Otherwise, there's no way Britain's missile defense system would've allowed these things to fly through their own territory. Must've been plenty of shady, backroom deals...'
He casually waved his wand again.
[Apparition]
[Transfiguration Spell]
As space distorted for a second or two, several metal-hued ravens suddenly appeared before him.
Their previous forms?
Those very same intercontinental missiles.
Through Transfiguration, Orsaga had altered their structure, keeping their explosive capabilities intact, but transforming them into intelligent mechanical constructs.
As the transformed ravens hovered before him awaiting orders, Orsaga yawned and gave a lazy command:
"Go back. Return to where you came from—and destroy it completely."
At his command, the ravens spread their wings. Several jet thrusters emerged from their joints, and in a flash, they blasted off with terrifying acceleration—flying back along their original trajectory at speeds over Mach 10.
Far away, in the missile base from which they had launched, panic was already spreading due to the sudden loss of signal from the warheads.
Thanks to the thunderclouds Orsaga had summoned, the dense cloud cover had completely blocked satellite surveillance of the region.
They had no idea what had happened after the missiles disappeared into the storm.
But they didn't have to wait long.
About ten minutes later, a base guard happened to spot several high-speed, unidentified flying objects flashing across the sky.
And then.
A massive explosion engulfed the base in flames!
The intense shockwave and searing heat instantly obliterated everything inside.
Several colossal mushroom clouds slowly rose from the blast zone, glowing so brightly they lit up the skies for tens of kilometers.
Nearby residents, upon seeing the unmistakable shape of those mushroom clouds, immediately went pale.
After all, every Earthling knew what that meant.
Panic ensued.
People began to flee without looking back.
Several governments received word within minutes: the counterattack had failed—utterly and completely.
Immediately, emergency meetings flared into action as leaders scrambled to discuss new plans.
---
Hours later, a middle-aged man in a sharp business suit stood before Orsaga, earnestly explaining certain matters.
When he finished, Orsaga didn't bother giving it much thought. He simply replied with calm indifference:
"I accept your request."
The man's face lit up in delight.
"Thank you for your generosity."
Orsaga merely waved a hand dismissively.
"As I've already said, I'll assign people to your country. All you need to do is provide them with the raw materials they need."
The man nodded enthusiastically.
"Understood! We'll make sure you're satisfied!"
Half an hour later, the man departed, riding in a specially coated vehicle designed to avoid detection, racing to return to his homeland.
Dumbledore, however, wore a grave expression as he warned Orsaga:
"My lord, I fear that man may have ulterior motives."
He could faintly sense the man's hidden agenda.
Orsaga, meanwhile, casually picked up a slice of cake from a nearby table, took a bite, and answered with a soft voice:
"It doesn't matter whether his intentions are good or bad.
The malice or goodwill of the weak makes no difference to the strong. Neither holds any weight. If I can't handle people like him, then I'm nothing but a failure. And failures don't deserve pity—whatever happens to them, they had it coming. So don't waste time pondering what's mine to worry about. Just focus on your own duties."
Hearing those calm yet cutting words, Dumbledore lowered his head and replied in a trembling voice:
"Yes, my lord."
Once he had left, Orsaga casually took a seat and continued enjoying his cake.
Just as he'd said—he truly didn't care about the man's or the country's real intentions.
If Orsaga wanted to, he could read someone's thoughts just by looking at their facial micro-expressions—achieving an effect not far off from literal mind reading.
And with his precognitive abilities, Unless someone was on the same level of existence as him, No one could deceive him.
Wavering loyalties?
Double-dealing?
Once the real conflict began, as long as the target was still on this planet, it wouldn't matter which side they tried to join.
It would all be meaningless.
Their little schemes, in Orsaga's eyes, were nothing more than a joke.
Reserved power?
Autonomous regions?
Special privileges?
All pointless nonsense.
What mattered now was this:
Crush all remaining forces still daring to resist. And wait for the construction of each and every "Temptation Tower" to be completed.
Once those two goals were achieved, Everything else would fall neatly into place.
_____
T/N:
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