The barn became Juri Winkler's sanctuary. While the villagers of Volgrath busied themselves with farming and mundane chores, Juri worked tirelessly on the first prototype of what he had grandly dubbed "The Mechanized Soldier."
The design was ambitious—an eight-foot-tall humanoid machine made of wood, iron, and salvaged materials. Its limbs would be powered by tension springs and pistons, its movements guided by an intricate system of gears. But the real innovation was the combustion core: a primitive engine that Juri hoped would generate enough force to power the machine without relying on magic.
It was a design born from necessity and desperation, but in Juri's mind, it was more than a tool. It was a weapon—a statement. Proof that magic wasn't the only path to power.
The first challenge was gathering materials. Juri had already exhausted the village blacksmith's scrap pile, and his father had begun to grow suspicious of the tools that kept "disappearing" from the workshop.
"You're going to have to get creative," Viktor muttered to himself one morning as he surveyed the half-built machine.
His solution was as simple as it was audacious: he would raid the village dump.
Under the cover of darkness, Juri slipped through the fields, a sack slung over his shoulder. The dump was a sprawling mess of broken carts, shattered pottery, and discarded tools—junk to the villagers, but a treasure trove for Juri.
He spent hours picking through the debris, selecting anything that could be repurposed: rusted chains, bent nails, shattered plows. Every piece was a potential solution to a problem he hadn't yet encountered.
By the time he returned to the barn, the sack was overflowing with metal and wood. He grinned as he set to work, his hands flying across the workbench.
The first attempt to power the machine was a disaster.
Juri had carefully assembled the combustion core, using a mixture of oil and alcohol to create a rudimentary fuel. He connected it to the machine's internal mechanisms and cranked the ignition.
The engine sputtered, hissed, and promptly caught fire.
"Damn it!" Juri shouted, leaping back as the flames licked at the machine's wooden frame. He grabbed a bucket of water and doused the fire, his heart pounding in his chest.
For a moment, he stood in the smoky barn, staring at the charred remains of his work. The frustration was suffocating.
In his previous life, he had built engines that could power tanks, machines of war capable of crushing armies. Here, he couldn't even keep a single machine running for more than a few seconds.
But Juri wasn't the type to give up. He took a deep breath, wiped the soot from his face, and set to work repairing the damage.
Juri was elbow-deep in the machine's inner workings when he heard the barn door creak open. He froze, his tools clattering to the ground.
"Juri?"
The voice was familiar. It was Marina, his mother.
Juri turned slowly, his heart sinking as he saw her standing in the doorway. Her face was pale, her eyes wide as she took in the half-built machine looming behind him.
"What… is this?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Juri hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's a project," he said finally. "An experiment."
"An experiment?" Marina stepped closer, her gaze darting between the machine and her son. "Juri, this… this is dangerous. Why are you building something like this?"
"Because I have to," Juri said, his voice firm.
Marina shook her head. "You're wasting your time. Magic is what makes this world work, Juri. Machines—whatever this is—it's not going to change that."
Juri's jaw tightened. "Magic isn't everything," he said quietly.
"It is here," Marina said. "And if you keep pushing like this, you're going to get yourself into trouble. People won't understand, Juri. They'll think you're trying to challenge the way things are."
Juri met her gaze, his expression cold. "Maybe I am."
Marina stared at him, her face filled with a mix of fear and sadness. Finally, she turned and walked away, leaving Juri alone in the barn.
For a moment, he stood in silence, her words echoing in his mind. But he quickly pushed them aside. He couldn't afford doubt. Not now.
Three days later, the second attempt to power the machine began.
Juri had overhauled the combustion core, replacing the damaged components and refining the fuel mixture. He had also reinforced the machine's joints, using chains to stabilize the tension springs.
With a deep breath, he cranked the ignition.
The engine sputtered, coughed, and then roared to life.
Juri's heart leapt as the machine shuddered, its gears clanking into motion. The legs twitched, then slowly straightened. The arms, crude and skeletal, rose jerkily into the air.
"It's working," Juri whispered, his voice trembling with excitement.
The machine took its first step, the sound of its iron foot striking the barn floor echoing like a thunderclap. Then another step. And another.
Juri couldn't contain his grin as he watched the machine lumber forward, its movements awkward but deliberate. It was a far cry from the sleek, precise mechs he had built in his previous life, but it was a start.
"This is it," he said, his voice barely audible over the engine's growl. "This is the future."
The noise from the barn didn't go unnoticed.
By the time Juri had shut the engine down, a small crowd of villagers had gathered outside. They stared at the barn, their expressions a mix of curiosity and fear.
"What's he doing in there?" someone whispered.
"I heard something moving," another said. "Like a beast."
Juri stepped outside, his face smudged with grease, and found himself face-to-face with the crowd. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Halvar, the blacksmith, stepped forward.
"What's going on, Winkler?" he asked, his voice stern. "What are you building in there?"
"Something better than magic," Juri said, his voice calm but defiant.
The crowd murmured, their whispers growing louder.
"Better than magic?" Halvar scoffed. "You're a fool, boy. Magic is what keeps this village running. Whatever you're working on, it's not going to change that."
"Maybe not yet," Juri said. "But one day, it will."
Halvar frowned, his eyes narrowing. "Listen to me, Juri. I don't know what kind of madness has taken hold of you, but you're playing a dangerous game. If the wrong people hear about this…"
"I'll take that risk," Juri said, cutting him off.
Halvar stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. "You're going to get yourself killed, boy. Mark my words."
The crowd slowly dispersed, their murmurs fading into the distance. But Juri's resolve didn't waver.
That night, Juri sat beside the machine, his mind buzzing with ideas. He had taken the first step—a crude, imperfect step, but a step nonetheless. The Mechanized Soldier was more than a machine. It was proof that magic wasn't the only path to power.
And as he stared at the hulking figure in the dim light of the barn, Juri felt a spark of triumph.
"This is just the beginning," he whispered. "The world doesn't know it yet, but everything is about to change."