Chapter 54: Advance Timeline Announcement
The mage couldn't figure out what was going on and speculated, "Try a different spell."
"Prostate Incontinence Spell."
Once again, the mage cast a spell on Allen.
However, Allen remained completely unaffected, standing there with pure, innocent eyes staring back at him.
"That shouldn't be possible."
The mage then turned to Nanaue and cast the Prostate Incontinence Spell.
Instantly, Nanaue's expression stiffened, his legs clamping together tightly as he trembled.
"Sphincter Relaxation Spell."
"Still no effect."
The mage tried again on Nanaue.
The next second, Nanaue clutched both his front and back and bolted toward the forest, shouting, "Nanaue can't take it anymore!"
"Shut up!"
Namor was shocked to his core. Such a demented spell—just the thought of it being used on him was terrifying.
"Full-Body Gout Spell."
With a wave of the mage's hand, a new spell struck Namor, dropping him to the ground instantly, his entire skeleton wracked with unbearable pain.
Gout may not be a fatal disease, but when it strikes, it's pure agony.
Even someone as powerful as Namor couldn't endure the piercing pain coursing through his body. Forget about standing up to fight—just moving a single finger made his joints ache so much that tears welled up in his eyes.
"Who the hell came up with this insane spell?!"
Steve howled in agony, sounding like someone who had stubbed his toe against a steel nail—except the nail had impaled him entirely.
Steve's words seemed to spark a realization in the mage.
With a face full of disbelief, the mage muttered, "Impossible, absolutely impossible. Something must be wrong."
"What's impossible?"
Allen had already walked up to him, pressing a machete against the mage's neck.
A nearby wind-controlling mutant tried to escape, but Allen casually flicked his Euphoria Whip at him, making the mutant writhe on the ground in pain, gritting his teeth as he scratched at his back.
"There are two reasons why magic fails," the mage explained. "The first is encountering a counter-element, with the opposing magic being at least one level higher. The second is that no spell works on the source."
The mage sized Allen up and immediately ruled out the first possibility—he couldn't sense a single trace of magical energy from him.
But if the first option was ruled out, then the second should be even more impossible.
A person who can't use magic somehow created an entire series of forbidden spells?
That's like saying a mental patient built an atomic bomb.
Though, to be fair… Allen probably could do that.
"No way. Absolutely no way."
The mage clutched his head in frustration. "This isn't some novel—where would a magic immunity physique even come from?"
"Well, actually, it is a novel world. And I am the protagonist."
Allen smirked, forming a finger-gun with one hand and pointing it under his chin in a cocky gesture. "The author of these forbidden spells—isn't his name Allen?"
"How do you know that? Have you read the forbidden book?!"
The mage immediately suspected that Allen was secretly a mage who had concealed his magic aura, possibly even someone who had studied the forbidden book and mastered its spells.
That would explain everything.
"Then there's no mistake—it must be something I did in another timeline."
Allen stroked his chin thoughtfully. "If I ever meet the Ancient One, I definitely need to tell her to take better care of her hair."
"The Ancient One has hair, and she takes great care of it every day," the mage corrected him.
"Ah, shut up. I didn't ask you to talk."
Allen raised a hand and delivered a brutal beating.
He absolutely hated getting proven wrong.
And for people like that, Allen had a simple response: physical magic.
With the matter resolved, four captured mutants and one mage were successfully taken into custody. The strike team had achieved yet another major victory.
The rescued scientific equipment, now safely recovered, would lead to countless research breakthroughs and provide valuable insights into enemy technology.
Most of the captured scientists had already chosen to defect to the Allied side.
After all, wise men adapt to the times.
Of course, this was also the beginning of HYDRA's infiltration of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Allen didn't bother exposing them—who would believe a madman's warning anyway?
Besides, a S.H.I.E.L.D. without HYDRA wouldn't really be S.H.I.E.L.D., would it? The duality was what made it so cost-effective.
With that, the strike team was officially established:
Captain: Steve
Advisor: Carter
Tactical Specialist: Dugan
Comedic Relief: Allen
Mascot: Nanaue
Logistics: Bucky
Fire Support: Namor
A seven-person unit dedicated to special operations—a sword on the battlefield, piercing through enemy defenses.
Over the next three months, they built an impressive track record, earning widespread fame among the Allied forces.
Many young soldiers idolized Steve, affectionately calling him "Captain America."
As for the rest of them? They were like leaves that made the flower look prettier.
To avoid public panic, information about Nanaue and Namor was deliberately suppressed.
After all, they weren't human. And super-powerful non-humans tended to freak people out.
One day, the strike team was tasked with capturing a heavily fortified stronghold.
However, the fortress was surrounded by a vast swamp—a natural barrier.
No vehicles could traverse the terrain, and even walking through it meant sinking knee-deep into the mud.
Tanks were useless. A full-scale charge would be suicide. So, the mission fell to the strike team.
Staring at the swamp, Steve rubbed his temples.
"First option," Carter suggested. "We tie ropes around ourselves, and Namor carries us across."
"I don't recommend that," Dugan immediately objected. "We'd be sitting ducks in midair—perfect sniper targets."
Not to mention, Namor wasn't exactly fast. He couldn't outrun bullets.
"Second option: we ride on Nanaue through the swamp, two people at a time."
"Not ideal," Carter hesitated.
Sure, Nanaue could swim through the swamp, but if the enemy spotted them, they'd be sitting ducks.
"Come on, are you guys serious? A problem this simple and you're still debating it?"
Judging by Allen's smug grin, he clearly had a solution—but he wanted someone to prompt him first.
"Allen, you have an idea, don't you?" Steve played along.
"Of course. This one's a no-brainer."
Allen turned and walked into the forest, pulled out his machete, and started hacking away.
Under everyone's watchful eyes, he began crafting a wooden contraption.
He carved wooden slats, fitted them together using mortise-and-tenon joints, and reinforced them.
In less than fifteen minutes, a strange tool took shape.
"Ta-da! The Mud Horse!"
A brilliant invention from the East—an ancient tool specifically designed for traversing muddy terrain.
"You kneel with one leg inside the wooden frame, push off with the other leg, and use the handles to steer. Looks cool, right?"
Allen eagerly carried the Mud Horse into the swamp, gripping the handlebars, kneeling on the frame, and keeping one leg extended outward.
With a single push—whoosh!—he glided several meters forward.
When the speed decreased, he simply pushed off again, smoothly cruising over the swamp.
Overjoyed, Allen burst into song:
"Yangshenlou, Mimengji Louchang, Loulüfen, Suanfen, Suanfen, Pao Mianguo…"
"Nanaue wants to play too! Master, let Nanaue try!"
Watching Allen slide effortlessly back and forth, Nanaue jumped up and down excitedly.
"A swamp sled!?"
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