The troop transports sailed out of New Dunkirk's naval harbor. Their weak magic furnaces hummed softly, pushing the massive hulls sluggishly toward the Odin Icefield. As troop transports, they had no need for great maneuverability, so the magic furnaces aboard Enzo's three vessels provided only minimal power, relying on their sails for additional momentum.
A squadron of ten heavy warships and twenty medium support warships charged out of the naval harbor like great-headed sharks, brimming with fierce Killing Intent. They drifted past the three troop transports at an unhurried pace before swiftly heading toward the Odin Icefield.
Enzo stood at the prow of the first troop transport, staring fixedly at the rapidly receding squadron.
He knew who had dispatched those warships, and he knew where they were headed. If nothing unexpected happened, those ships would linger for over half a month near the region where he was entering the Odin Icefield, bullying the fishing boats and small warships of the other races, drilling the sailors, and incidentally providing support for his small detachment.
It had been like this for the past few years. Whenever Enzo was sent out to carry out those ill-fated missions, a fleet of varying size would appear nearby. As that person's status gradually rose, the fleet sent to support him had steadily grown as well.
This time, ten heavy warships and twenty medium support warships had actually been deployed. Enzo could not help sighing. "That lucky bastard's already a navy major general, while I'm only an army second lieutenant. How many ranks apart is that? That bastard!"
Slipping a hand into his sleeve, Enzo gripped a magic scroll made of white bone hidden there. Magic potions were used to soften Magic Beast bones until they were as pliable as clay; once flattened and cut, they became