"Bishop Anluke, this is the place! I just saw the witch and the witch hunter emerge from the house, fighting all the way to here..."
A quarter of an hour later, in the lower district, a ragged, filthy scavenger bowed low before the priests of the Church, recounting everything he had witnessed.
Anluke remained silent, his eyes tracing the scorched marks on the ground. The crimson blood had been darkened by the intense heat, and the upturned earth and scattered remains bore testament to the battle's ferocity.
The devastation before him suggested the use of a powerful Second-Circle spell, *Fireburst*.
"Where is the body?" Anluke suddenly asked, his voice sharp. The signs of battle were clear, yet Blaney's corpse was nowhere to be found.
The scavenger swallowed hard, struggling to speak. "After the witch hunter was killed, the witch... he threw the body into the Yinne River…"
"This is blasphemy against God!"
Before Anluke could respond, a middle-aged priest behind him shouted in indignation.
For years, thanks to the "wise" policies of Duke Nordland, the downstream of the Yinne River had become a cesspool of filth and corruption.
Blaney's role was not merely that of a witch hunter; he was a member of the Church's Divine Punishment Army, one who had even partaken of the *Elixir of Divine Grace*, making him a true emissary of God on earth.
His participation in witch hunts had been merely to enhance his record.
But now, this demon-corrupted witch had not only brutally slain him but also desecrated his body by casting it into the foul Yinne River—a blatant affront to the Church's authority!
The scavenger's body trembled uncontrollably, and he lowered his head in fear.
Anluke tightened his grip on his staff, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He turned back to the trembling scavenger, questioning him once more.
"Did you get a clear look at the witch who killed Blaney? Was there anyone else involved?"
"I only caught a glimpse from afar, Your Excellency. I'm certain there was no other witch present..." The scavenger's voice quivered. "He seemed barely of age, with brown hair, about your height."
"Carl…" Anluke murmured, turning the name over in his mind.
Until now, he had paid little attention to this insignificant apprentice. According to the intelligence gathered, Carl had only been studying magic for about six months, and was not favored by his master, Koru. He was considered the least threatening of all their targets...
But now, it seemed that wasn't the case.
To unleash a Second-Circle spell like *Fireburst*, and to kill two witch hunters in the process—this was far beyond the capabilities of a mere novice!
Unless he possessed a powerful alchemical artifact, or... he was a fully-fledged wizard like Koru!
…
Several days later, in a small inn in Ur Town, near the border of Nordland.
Lynn jolted awake from a nightmare, leaping from the hard wooden bed. He moved quickly to the window, scanning the scene outside.
Seeing everything was normal, and that no one had come to capture him, he finally allowed himself to relax.
Since the day he had killed those two witch hunters in the slums, he had been on edge, constantly fearing the Inquisition's pursuit. His journey to Ur Town had been deliberately circuitous, and he had even gone to the trouble of leaving false trails.
Perhaps his amateurish counter-surveillance tactics had actually worked, or maybe the Inquisition was too preoccupied to deal with a mere apprentice. So far, he hadn't encountered any pursuers.
Even so, his journey had been anything but easy.
Accustomed to the conveniences of modern life, finding himself suddenly in a place resembling medieval Europe had nearly driven Lynn to despair.
There were no phones, no computers, no familiar family or friends. Mornings offered no warm breakfasts, only hard, unappetizing black bread to gnaw on with water…
The only consolation was that he possessed Carl's full set of memories, including the language and customs of this world. His physical abilities were also decent, allowing him to fend off opportunistic thieves and survive the perilous journey.
After days of hardship, Lynn had reluctantly come to terms with the reality of his situation. This was his second day in Ur Town.
Out of caution, Lynn hadn't immediately sought out the other wizard apprentices. After discovering their marks, he had prudently returned to familiarize himself with the town's layout and bought several new firestones and a bag of black bread.
The days on the run had left Lynn jittery, but after gaining some understanding of Ur Town, he quickly grasped why Jonny had chosen this place for their meeting.
As a border trading town in Nordland, Ur Town was a crossroads for various people, with merchants constantly coming and going. A few unfamiliar faces wouldn't draw much attention.
As he pondered, Lynn reached for the mortar beside him, placing the broken firestone pieces inside. Using a small wooden pestle, he ground them into a fine powder.
During his time in Ur Town, apart from searching for marks and familiarizing himself with the town, Lynn had devoted the rest of his time to the production of white phosphorus.
White phosphorus is a chemical element with the formula P4, appearing as a white or pale yellow translucent solid.
There are two common methods of production.
The first involves mixing calcium phosphate, quartz sand, and carbon powder, heating the mixture to 1400 to 1600 degrees Celsius. The resulting phosphorus vapor is then passed into cold water to solidify into white phosphorus.
The second method involves heating red phosphorus to 416 degrees Celsius in the absence of air, then sublimating and cooling it.
However, in this pre-industrial world, reminiscent of ancient Europe, gathering the necessary materials in a short time was no easy task.
Though 071 had provided him with some "convenient" ancient methods of extracting these materials, Lynn was reluctant to use them unless absolutely necessary.
Fortunately, Lynn soon discovered a pleasant surprise: the surface of the firestones he had been using contained traces of red phosphorus!
Considering that red phosphorus had been used as a fire retardant in match production during the last century, this wasn't too surprising.
It seemed the natives of this world had already discovered the element phosphorus, albeit in a rudimentary way.
As he continued to grind with the wooden pestle, the firestone fragments gradually broke down, leaving behind only a fine, crimson powder after the impurities were sifted out.
He had no specialized instruments, but the mystical power of magic was far more effective than any scientific apparatus!
*Mage's Hand*!
With a thought, the fine red phosphorus powder seemed to respond to some unseen force, floating into the air. Then, under the influence of *Elementary Material Deconstruction*, it began to break down into its basic molecular state…