"Hank and I have arrived at the target area. Awaiting instructions, HQ."
"Static… Stay alert, and prioritize your own safety. Your mission is reconnaissance. If you discover anything very… unusual, report it immediately."
"Understood, HQ."
After receiving the order from headquarters, Morik casually tucked the radio earpiece into his raised collar as if nothing had happened, then adjusted his leather jacket to make himself look more relaxed.
But his young partner, Hank, could not sit still. He glanced at the small village ahead and asked in confusion, "Sir, what exactly are we supposed to be watching for…"
The moment he spoke, Morik fixed him with a cold, displeased stare, frightening even this SAS elite into shrinking his neck.
"Sorry, Mr. Morik."
Only after sweeping the surroundings warily did Morik suppress his anger and hiss at Hank, "Right now, we're just two bored friends out on a road trip. Don't use military titles, and don't be so formal."
"Didn't your training teach you that?!"
Hank did not dare argue. If Morik had not reminded him, he would have immediately apologized the way he did in the military.
Only after Morik got out of the car with a cold expression did Hank mutter quietly, "The SAS is an operational unit, not some secretive intelligence agency."
As Britain's, and even the world's, earliest special forces unit, the Special Air Service was known for carrying out missions quickly, accurately, and efficiently. But after being handed such a baffling reconnaissance assignment, Hank had been confused for a while now.
In truth, Morik was also somewhat at a loss.
Of course the SAS carried out reconnaissance missions. He had done plenty of them himself, and in operations against the Irish Republican Army, he had become known for accurate and efficient intelligence gathering.
But those had all been on battlefields full of danger.
This place, at most, was just an ordinary little village, hundreds of miles away from the enemy.
Yet they had suddenly been transferred under some mysterious command, and even the orders they received had been vague. At first, they were given only a location. Only after arriving had they been handed another cryptic objective.
Something very unusual?
Who the hell knew what that meant?
Morik grumbled inwardly, but his expression remained relaxed and pleasant. Even as his bright eyes looked around, he only gave others the impression that he really was a tourist interested in the village scenery.
"This place really is beautiful. It's just a shame a few of the houses look abandoned," Hank said seriously, though his acting was far worse than his superior Morik's.
Morik glanced at him, but said nothing more. Instead, following Hank's words, he studied those houses, especially a farmhouse not far away.
Its exterior clearly looked old and neglected, yet through the windows, they could plainly see neat, well-kept furniture inside.
Even Hank, slow as he was, noticed something was wrong.
"Don't talk. We'll move over quietly," Morik quickly whispered.
With that, the two of them adjusted their posture with practiced ease and swaggered from the village's main road toward the edge. Then, in a flash, they slipped into a side path opposite the target.
"Morik, I keep feeling like no one is on guard against us. Could this just be a useless piece of bad intel?"
Although he was following Morik through various tactical movements, Hank still voiced his suspicion.
Morik had noticed that long ago, but out of professional discipline, he continued to handle the traces they left behind with proper care as they gradually approached the target house.
"Bad intel only makes us return empty-handed. Good intel handled badly gets us killed here."
With that, he nimbly pressed himself against the farmhouse wall and listened for movement inside.
"Rip… crack…"
Sure enough, there were people inside.
He did not act rashly. Instead, he pulled Hank into a spot the window could not see and continued listening.
"Do we really not need to add some muggle-repelling magic? I think I saw someone notice this place just now," a deep, muffled voice said worriedly.
"We've already made the outside of the house look run-down. If any muggles come knocking, our wands will take care of them just fine!" a sharp voice said excitedly, sounding almost eager.
"But will our wands cast spells by themselves?"
"You idiot, we're the ones holding the wands and casting the spells!"
"Then you should have said that earlier. Why did you have to say it was our wands…"
"…"
Although Morik did not know what they were talking about, and it even sounded rather ridiculous, a trace of unease still rose in his heart.
"I wouldn't call it very unusual, but I think it definitely counts as unusual. It's not as if two lunatics are hiding in there, right?" Hank did not sense any danger. He simply felt that the two people inside sounded like madmen.
But on a battlefield, madmen were sometimes the most terrifying.
Prompted by his reminder, Morik decisively lifted the earpiece hidden in his collar.
"Command, this is Morik's team. We've found two men here discussing something strange…"
Before Morik could finish, he realized he had been wrong.
The ones who had just been speaking were a burly man and a woman whose skin was as pale as a corpse.
"Oh my, so little mice really did sneak over…"
The woman stretched out her crimson tongue and licked her lips. Her dried-out face held not the slightest hint of charm, but Morik and Hank could clearly see her unusually sharp fangs.
For some reason, the sight of the two of them merely holding strange little wooden sticks brought tremendous pressure down on Morik and Hank.
It even felt like the threat of death.
The burly man studied Morik in confusion for a moment before saying in a muffled voice, "They look like muggles."
"Don't say look like. They are muggles!"
"But they haven't cast any spells yet. How can you be sure they're muggles?"
"If they're muggles, they'll never be able to cast magic in their entire lives. Are you planning to wait until they die of old age?!"
"Oh, what you said does make a little sense."
"Not a little… Forget it. I really can't understand why the Dark Lord would even recruit a stupid Werewolf like you!"
The Werewolf scratched his head. "Maybe…"
"Maybe Voldemort simply sees you as expendable."
Marvolio appeared behind the two of them with a savage grin. In an instant, raging flames surged from his hands and bound them tightly.
Fortunately, the flames were not very hot, and their bodies were fairly strong. The fire only burned their skin into a charred, hardened crust, even thoughtfully sealing off the blood before it could seep out.
Listening to their miserable screams, and seeing that after making this whole trip he had only caught these two small fish, Marvolio instead curled his lip in displeasure.
"This Gubraithian Fire really is too hard to learn…"
He muttered under his breath. Seeing the two special forces soldiers opposite him, who could barely count as colleagues, frozen in place with fear, he had no choice but to follow Tver's rules and quickly force out a smile.
"Thank you for guiding me. This mission was very successful. You two… er, can go back and claim the credit yourselves."
With that, he seized the still-screaming Vampire and Werewolf by the necks and vanished from the spot.
"Sir, was what I saw an illusion?" Hank asked blankly.
"I don't know…"
Morik no longer cared about how Hank addressed him. He stared at the place where Marvolio had vanished and stayed silent for a long time.
Only the two footprints left behind told him that everything that had just happened was real.
"But I'm certain of one thing. This was a very unusual mission, and this is an extremely unusual department!"