Chapter 403

Time slipped away silently in the course of research.

When less than a day remained until the assembly time, Gao Jie Ming lifted his head from his workbench.

Before him, three wands floated slowly rotating, their shafts shimmering with a dark golden metallic luster, and within the rhombic crystal cores embedded at their tips, faintly visible were compressed points of light—the sealed state of the Divine Light of Dispersing Flame.

"Almost done."

Gao Jie Ming reached out and grasped one of the wands; its surface felt slightly warm.

The energy circuits within the wand were stable and surging, ready to unleash that destructive beam at a single thought.

The fabrication process had gone smoother than he expected.

As an alchemist by training and the very architect of the Talisman-Witchcraft system, sealing a mature spell model into a traditional witchcraft framework presented no essential obstacles.

He was highly satisfied with the final product.

Each wand could store and release one full-strength burst of the Divine Light of Dispersing Flame, and with the Level Five large elemental pool in his inner dantian, the recharge interval was only three minutes.

Though the number of releases per cycle was limited, it was more than sufficient as an "emergency trump card" or "tactical surprise."

After all, he himself could cast this spell; the wands were primarily for moments when there was no time to charge up.

"Pity—there still wasn't enough time."

Gao Jie Ming reluctantly stowed the wands away.

If he could have converted one more defensive spell—say, the "Qian Yuan Divine Shield" or "Xuan Ming True Water Barrier" recorded in the Great Dao Library—he would have possessed cross-system killer weapons for both offense and defense.

But this was his first time converting a spell model, and he'd started with a Soul Transformation-level high-tier spell; a hundred years had only been enough to fully master the Divine Light of Dispersing Flame.

The defensive spell models were even more complex; they would have to wait for the future.

He turned and walked toward the exit of the laboratory.

For this campaign, he decided to reduce the number of troops he brought.

The reason was simple: intelligence was unclear; caution was paramount.

The time-reversal mechanism of the Reincarnation Dimension affected "all entities within the dimension."

Then, would his inner dantian—this small world, dependent on him yet self-contained—be affected?

If not, what state would items removed from the dantian before the reversal return to afterward?

Would they retain the fact of having been "removed," or be forcibly "reinserted" back into the dantian?

No one could give him an answer.

"No risk," Gao Jie Ming decided.

Moreover, battlefield intelligence indicated that the Sickle-Headed Clan's individual combat power was unremarkable.

The witch army held absolute superiority on the front lines; the real problem was "being reset after victory," not

"losing."

Thus, Gao Jie Ming brought only the Black Giant chieftain "Rushan," and five thousand elite Level Five Black Giants.

These were elites evolved through centuries of continuous energy consumption and multiple rounds of natural selection.

Their liquid-metal skin layers were denser, their time-manipulation ability reached the microsecond level, and their physical resistance could withstand direct hits from conventional Level Five witch spells.

As for the Black Giant Priests—born at a probability of one in ten million and possessing extremely high intelligence—he brought none.

After all, they were research units; though formidable in combat, sending a researcher into battle was a tremendous waste.

After confirming all preparations were in order, Gao Jie Ming stepped into the teleportation array.

The coordinates had already been uploaded to the magic network terminal—it was the assembly point provided by the military, located in a modified transit dimension.

The dizziness of teleportation lasted only an instant.

When his vision cleared again, Gao Jie Ming found himself standing on a dark gray wasteland.

The sky was oppressive lead-gray, devoid of clouds, sun, moon, or stars—only a uniform, diffused cold light source, clearly artificial illumination.

Beneath his feet was a hard alloy surface, etched with regular heat-dissipation patterns.

The air was dry, carrying a faint ozone scent and the odor of cooled metal.

"Ship dimension," Gao Jie Ming recognized the environment at a glance.

What appeared to be a wasteland was in fact the internal deck of a dimensional warship.

A standard practice among the witch factions of the Star Ring Federation—transforming an entire small dimension into a mobile fortress, its interior space multi-layered and expanded to accommodate vast forces.

The surface was disguised as natural terrain, both for concealment and to serve as a deployable battlefield platform when needed.

But judging by the condition of this ship dimension, the Reincarnation Dimension was as described in intelligence—its combat power truly unremarkable; the entire ship dimension served merely as a transport vessel.

Around him, teleportation glows kept flaring up.

One by one, witches emerged, most wearing standardized or semi-standardized battle robes, their chests adorned with badges of different academies or factions.

Gao Jie Ming glanced roughly; from their auras, he judged that most of these witches were Level One or Two, with Level Three being rare.

Occasionally, a Level Three witch appeared, and nearby Level One and Two witches would instinctively step aside, showing respectful deference.

And when Gao Jie Ming, clearly radiating the aura of a Level Four witch, fully appeared, a silence fell instantly within a hundred-meter radius.

Dozens of young witches nearby instinctively stepped back half a pace and bowed their heads in greeting.

A few sharper-eyed ones seemed to recognize the Plane Nuolun Academy alchemy badge on his robe and the subtle, uniquely crafted black robe he wore, their eyes flickering with surprise and curiosity.

Gao Jie Ming paid no attention to these glances; he simply stood still, observing the entire assembly area.

"The Federation must judge the routine danger of this dimension to be low," he analyzed internally. "Most of those sent here are newcomers, or young witches recently promoted and seeking military merit."

It made sense.

The peculiar danger of the Reincarnation Dimension lay in its "mechanism," not its "frontline combat power."

As long as one did not trigger the time-reversal condition, the witch army could advance virtually unscathed.

For newcomers, this was an ideal training ground: plenty of low-level enemies to practice on, with high-level witches standing by as backup.

"As for why I received the invitation—" Gao Jie Ming touched his chin.

He did not consider himself a battlefield rookie, but his participation in dimension wars as an "elite combat unit" had been rare.

Counting strictly, he had only once truly participated as an "elite combat unit"—in the war against the Just Dimension.

And it was during that war that he experienced his first "death."

"Perhaps the military values my experience in unconventional battlefields," Gao Jie Ming thought.

After all, witches who survived emerging from twisted laws and returned with complete data were few in the entire Star Ring Federation.

Time passed in waiting.

The wasteland filled with more and more witches, eventually stabilizing at around thirty thousand.

The crowd was noisy.

Those who had experienced one or two dimension wars—or were even attending their first official dimension war—whispered among themselves, exchanging battlefield rumors and speculating on the mission's purpose.

Veterans mostly remained silent, checking equipment or closing their eyes to rest.

Gao Jie Ming noticed that among these witches, those who had truly reached Level Four—including himself—numbered no more than ten.

"Definitely a low-risk configuration," he confirmed his judgment.

At that moment, the ground at the center of the wasteland suddenly split open.

A circular platform over a hundred meters in diameter slowly rose, upon which stood three witches.

In the center was an elderly man clad in a deep blue star-patterned robe, his chest adorned with eight concentric silver star badges—the mark of a Level Eight Grand Witch.

On either side stood a Level Seven witch, one male and one female, their auras condensed like mountains.

All noise vanished instantly.

Thirty thousand witches fixed their gazes upon the platform.

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