( 09/06/736 )
35 days later, on Nymera, the 6th of Ilyara, as mid-harvest fall gripped the land. Leaves blanketed the ground, and nights grew too cold to endure without warmth. Still, people wandered through the Grokken fields, their breath visible in the chilly air, smiling as they savored the brisk season before Frostveil would wrap the world in a coat of white.
Inside a grand carriage drawn by a coachman and guarded by knights, a man gazed out through a rare luxury—glass windows. Villagers gathered at a respectful distance, their eyes drawn to the opulent sight. None dared approach, deterred by the contingent of knights surrounding the carriage. Some were mounted, others on foot, each bound to the same purpose: to protect their king.
King Reabron Ilthus Furmion III of the Leotus Kingdom closed his bright green eyes for a moment, rubbing his temples to ease a dull headache.
They were nearing the outskirts of CleoDor's capital city, Bummpar. Within its walls, the city boasted elegance to rival any other, but the splendor faded sharply in the outlying districts. Poverty lay thick here; those gathered to watch the carriage wore threadbare clothes, with nothing but worn cloth around their feet.
The king leaned back, letting out a weary sigh.
"I was nearly certain they'd reject my proposal," he thought, "but the effort had to be made. Of the ten nearby kingdoms, only three stand with us, and just one is willing to mobilize in any true strength. To think the CleoDorian King laughed outright at my proposal—remarkable."
The carriage rumbled steadily on the road back to Leotus. Though he had won some alliances, the king still regarded the attempt as a failure. His hope had been to unite the surrounding kingdoms against a threat looming over all of humanity.
"Your Majesty," a knight called from outside, his horse shifting restlessly beneath him.
The king opened the window, meeting the knight's gaze.
"We're still several days from Lumin. Shall we proceed with haste?"
The king weighed the proposal. Pushing forward would save them a day—a day closer to his home, a place he had longed to return to since this arduous journey began. Yet, his men would bear the brunt of that haste, many already weary from days on the road.
No king had ever undertaken such a mission alone, journeying far and wide to forge alliances among other kingdoms. Of course, he wasn't entirely alone—his escort of three hundred loyal men accompanied him. Yet, diplomacy required respect for customs, and many kingdoms had barred his troops from entry. The Kingdom of CleoDor, for instance, demanded that he enter alone if he wished to meet. So, he had walked into their gates alone, clad in full plate armor, a sheathed sword at his side.
After a pause, the king gave his answer. "There's no need to rush. Let them take their time." He refused to let his selfish desire for home drive his men to exhaustion. Many in his escort walked, and a hurried pace would only strain them further.
Far away, a furious shout echoed through CleoDor's grand council hall.
"That insolent fool dares to set foot in my kingdom and spew such absurdity!" A man's voice thundered.
At a large oval table sat several men, their faces shaded with tension. At the center was King Vismas Cui Kalipus of CleoDor, flanked by his trusted allies: Duke Jugus Cainman to his right and Duke Germain Cuipus Cronus to his left, with five other marquesses and Duke Highsen Cui Kalipus, Vismas's own cousin.
Though he bore the title of king, Vismas's authority had waned. His family had challenged his claim to the throne, transitioning the kingdom toward an oligarchy. From now on, he would not hold absolute sway; decisions were subject to the council's consensus.
"Steady yourself, Vismas," Duke Highsen interjected coolly, crossing his arms. "It was inevitable they would seek us out. Their troubles are mounting, and they need allies. It's a matter of grave concern, especially with Minrow bordering us also."
Vismas scowled, his displeasure clear. "I didn't think you all would be so quick to aid them."
But his words fell on indifferent ears. The council had moved past his silly outbursts.
"Hush, your ignorance astounds me. To think you hold the throne solely because you're the eldest among your brothers—it's absurd." Duke Germain's voice was cold. "We'd never assist the Kingdom of Leotus. Our offer to support them in exchange for their eastern lands? Nothing but a ruse."
Any pretense of respect for the crown had long dissolved. The nobility's regard for absolute monarchy was nearly extinct, replaced by a shared vision of a council-led rule. Few clung to the old ways, but those voices were too weak to sway the council's trajectory.
Several dukes and marquesses were notably absent, invited to remain so until stability returned to CleoDor. Those attending had rushed in as soon as word spread that the King of Leotus had requested an audience.
The nobles were keen to keep the transition out of absolute rule concealed from outsiders. Revealing CleoDor's internal turmoil to a foreign king, especially one whose intentions were yet unclear, would be unwise. Thus, only trusted dukes and a select few marquesses were permitted at the meeting.
Among them sat Marquess Belovart Reignmas III, listening in calculated silence as others exchanged barbed words. Belovart was a firm believer in monarchy—if only he were the one wielding that power. His gaze lingered on the king, who appeared stunned and speechless at the table's center.
"How did such a fool ever ascend the throne?" he muttered under his breath, contempt darkening his eyes.
—
The initial, thunderous clatter of metal reverberated across the training field as a giant iron ball was carefully hoisted into the yawning mouth of a massive black barrel. The sound rippled through the assembled ranks, making even the most hardened soldiers glance over as they sparred in the distance, their own clinking swords suddenly feeble by comparison. Just kilometers away from Lumin's walls, in the expansive Dire training fields, nobles, commanders, and the Council of Bright Ones gathered with a mix of intrigue and apprehension.
Henry, sleeves rolled up, worked the barrel's mechanism with an intense focus, cranking it slowly to reach a precise 45-degree angle. Every turn of the handle shifted the immense contraption upward, while sturdy wheels allowed it to pivot smoothly on the platform. But it wasn't just mobility that defined this formidable machine; a complex system of locks secured it firmly to the ground, ensuring stability against the incredible force it was about to unleash.
"Alright, Fredrick, I think we're ready," Henry called, wiping sweat from his brow as he stepped back, inspecting his handiwork.
Fredrick nodded and, turning to the crowd, raised his voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, behold—the future of warfare!"
The nobles watched, their expressions a mix of fascination and wariness. Among them was Victorian, with Fregran and his companions from the Falling Grin, who looked equally captivated and uneasy. Fregran had trained daily with the soldiers but had never seen a display quite like this. "What in all the realms are we witnessing?" he muttered, his gaze fixed on the strange device.
The Kingdom of Leotus—and humanity as a whole—lacked the natural affinity for magic that elves and other races took for granted. For humans, magic was rare, elusive, and far from an innate skill. This void in natural magic had shaped their path differently: without spells to shield or strengthen them, they became innovators out of necessity. Humans delved into the sciences, tested theories, and honed their battle skills with intense discipline. This unique challenge drove them to build strength through knowledge and resilience, forging tools and techniques that relied not on magic, but on the ingenuity of their minds and hands.
With the barrel now aimed and the crowd's murmur reaching a hush, a blacksmith approached, lighting the fuse with a practiced hand. The spark darted down the line, disappearing into the barrel.
"Behold—the propelled projectile!" Fredrick declared.
A sudden, deafening bang exploded from the barrel, its echo louder than any cathedral bell. A shockwave trembled through the ground, sending a pulse that reached every booted foot and rattled every sword hilt. From the barrel shot the iron ball, a sleek, lethal orb gliding with a quiet, unyielding purpose.
It soared high, beyond the range of any trebuchet or catapult, slicing through the air like a judgment cast by unseen hands. The nobles watched, stunned, as it arced across the horizon. One murmured it had the ease of a child's slingshot and yet a destructive promise like nothing they had ever seen.
"Just what in the world was that?" Fregran muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Worry etched into his face, and a bead of sweat slid slowly down his forehead as he struggled to comprehend the sheer power he had just witnessed.
Estelar and Buluni, standing nearby, stared in silent awe. They had seen powerful magic, skilled warriors, and even siege weapons in their time, but this... this mechanism was something else entirely. It felt as though it held the potential to redefine warfare.
"If the Kingdom of Leotus keeps a weapon like this under their control," Estelar thought, his gaze fixed on the still-smoking barrel, "they could reshape the balance of power across all nearby kingdoms." The notion chilled him. An invention this deadly could enable them to assert dominance over others, forcing entire nations to either submit or fall.
"Maybe I'm exaggerating," Buluni told himself, although doubt crept into his mind. Yet he couldn't dismiss the thought that humans, lacking the natural magic the elves possessed, might have created this weapon out of sheer necessity, a last line of defense against foes who could wield the arcane with ease. In a way, he couldn't help but admire their ingenuity—what humans lacked in magic, they compensated for with innovation, and with frightening efficiency.
Fredrick's voice broke the tense silence. "Well, what do you all think?" he asked, glancing around with a mixture of pride and anticipation.
A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd of nobles, their faces lit with the excitement of witnessing this newfound power. Some whispered their admiration, others openly praised the ingenuity of the council behind its creation.
"Now, now, please, settle down," Fredrick said, lifting a hand to temper their excitement, though his own smile betrayed a trace of satisfaction. "We're a bit behind on our target numbers, but—"
"Wait! You mean to say there's more than one of these... monstrous weapons?" another noble interjected, his face a mixture of awe and apprehension.
Fredrick nodded. "Correct. We have 210 operational, with another 20 undergoing repairs for minor defects."
The nobles exchanged glances, each silently grappling with the magnitude of that number. Okadio's eyes widened, Mina's steady gaze turned calculating, and Drut was lost somewhere between wonder and unease. Even the most seasoned among them seemed momentarily adrift, confronted with a force that could very well alter the future of their kingdom.
"If I'm being honest," Fredrick continued, "we thought that number would be lower. But we underestimated the heart of the Leotian people. Many have set aside their daily lives to serve, whether by mining resources, collecting ingredients, or working tirelessly in the forges alongside the blacksmiths. This weapon isn't solely the achievement of the council—it's the embodiment of Leotus's unyielding resolve."
As Fredrick's words settled over them, the last lingering doubts among the nobles dissipated, replaced by a shared pride and determination. That final statement resonated, a reminder of their unity and purpose, and a testament to the resilience that bound them together.