It didn't take long for rumors of Juri Winkler's machine to spread beyond the quiet confines of Volgrath. In a world ruled by magic, the idea of a "magicless boy" building something that could move and function without mana was nothing short of scandalous. Whispers traveled from the village to nearby towns and eventually reached the ears of those who considered themselves the keepers of magical order: the regional magistrates of the Royal Academy.
Juri, of course, knew this was inevitable.
As he worked tirelessly to refine his Mechanized Soldier, he caught fragments of worried conversations from the villagers. Stories of wandering enforcers, known as "Arcanists," who traveled from place to place rooting out heresy, challenging rogue mages, and ensuring the Academy's dominance.
"They say the Arcanists are coming here," his father, Anton, said one evening as the family sat around the small dining table. His tone was casual, but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Why would they come to Volgrath?" Juri's mother, Marina, asked, though she glanced at her son as if she already knew the answer.
Anton sighed. "There's talk of… unusual activity. A machine that moves without magic." He shot Juri a pointed look. "Do you know anything about that?"
Juri didn't look up from his bowl of soup. "No."
His father's gaze lingered on him for a moment before he let the matter drop. But the warning had been clear.
The Arcanists arrived in Volgrath two days later.
Juri stood at the edge of the village square, watching as the three figures dismounted their sleek black horses. They were an intimidating sight, clad in long coats of dark leather reinforced with magical runes that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Each carried a staff, their tips adorned with crystals that pulsed with restrained energy.
The leader was a tall woman with sharp features and piercing green eyes. Her expression was cold, calculating, as she surveyed the gathered villagers.
"I am Arcanist Valeria of the Royal Academy," she announced, her voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "We have been informed of irregular activity in this village. Specifically, the creation of a device that operates without magic."
Her gaze swept across the crowd, lingering briefly on Juri before moving on.
"Such devices are dangerous," she continued. "They threaten the natural balance of our world. If anyone has knowledge of this device or its creator, you are required to report it immediately."
The villagers exchanged nervous glances, but no one spoke.
Valeria's eyes narrowed. "I will ask again. Who here has information about this… machine?"
Juri stepped forward.
"It's mine," he said, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart.
The crowd parted as Juri walked toward the Arcanists, his posture calm but unyielding. The villagers stared in stunned silence, their faces pale with fear.
Valeria studied him, her green eyes sharp and unrelenting. "You're the creator of this machine?"
"I am," Juri replied.
She raised an eyebrow. "You're just a boy. And magicless, from what I've heard. How could someone like you create something so… disruptive?"
"Magic isn't the only way to create power," Juri said, his voice firm. "You're all so reliant on mana that you've stopped thinking about other possibilities. I haven't."
A faint smirk tugged at Valeria's lips, though her eyes remained cold. "You speak boldly for someone who doesn't understand the forces he's tampering with. Where is the machine now?"
Juri hesitated. He could lie, try to send them away, but he knew it wouldn't work. The Arcanists were trained to detect mana flows and anomalies. They would find the barn eventually.
"It's in my workshop," he said finally.
"Take us there," Valeria ordered.
Juri led the Arcanists to the barn, the crowd following at a cautious distance. His parents stood at the edge of the square, his mother's face etched with worry, his father's expression grim.
The barn was quiet when they arrived. Juri pushed open the doors and stepped inside, the Arcanists close behind.
The Mechanized Soldier loomed in the center of the room, its skeletal frame gleaming faintly in the dim light. The crude combustion engine was exposed, its gears and pistons visible beneath a web of tension springs.
Valeria stared at the machine, her expression unreadable. One of the other Arcanists, a younger man with a shock of white hair, stepped closer, his staff glowing faintly as he scanned the device.
"It's not powered by mana," he said, his voice tinged with both confusion and curiosity.
"Obviously," Juri said dryly.
Valeria stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. "What powers it, then?"
Juri crossed his arms. "It's a combustion engine. It converts fuel into energy. Something your magic can't replicate."
The younger Arcanist frowned. "Fuel? What kind of fuel?"
"Oil and alcohol," Juri replied. "And no, you can't have the formula."
Valeria's expression darkened. "You're playing a dangerous game, boy. Devices like this—tools of war—have no place in this world. They upset the balance of magic and threaten the stability of our society."
"Your society," Juri corrected. "Not mine."
The room fell silent. The tension was palpable, the air heavy with unspoken threats.
Valeria stepped closer, her voice low and menacing. "You think you're clever, don't you? But let me make one thing clear: the Royal Academy will not tolerate this kind of defiance. You will dismantle this machine and destroy your notes, or we will do it for you."
Juri's heart pounded, but he held his ground. "No."
Valeria blinked, her expression momentarily stunned. "Excuse me?"
"I said no," Juri repeated. "This machine is my creation. My vision. You can't stop progress, no matter how much you fear it."
The younger Arcanist stepped forward, his staff glowing brighter. "He's arrogant. Let me handle him."
"No," Valeria said sharply, raising a hand to stop him. She turned back to Juri, her eyes blazing. "You don't understand what you're dealing with, boy. But you will."
The tension snapped like a taut wire.
Valeria raised her staff, a surge of mana crackling in the air as she prepared to unleash a spell. Juri didn't hesitate. He lunged for the ignition crank, grabbing it with both hands and twisting it as hard as he could.
The Mechanized Soldier roared to life, its combustion engine sputtering before settling into a steady growl. The gears clicked, the pistons hissed, and the machine's limbs jerked into motion.
"Stop him!" Valeria shouted.
The younger Arcanist fired a bolt of energy at the machine, but the spell ricocheted harmlessly off its iron frame. The Mechanized Soldier took a lumbering step forward, its massive arms swinging with mechanical precision.
Juri scrambled into the machine's cockpit—a crude seat mounted behind the engine—and grabbed the controls. The levers responded sluggishly, but the machine obeyed, turning toward the barn doors.
"Move!" Juri shouted, steering the machine forward.
The Arcanists dove out of the way as the Mechanized Soldier crashed through the barn doors, splintering wood flying in all directions. The crowd outside scattered, their screams echoing through the village.
Juri drove the machine toward the open fields, its legs grinding over the uneven ground. The engine sputtered and coughed, its fuel reserves already dwindling, but Juri didn't care. He had to get away.
Behind him, the Arcanists gave chase, their spells crackling in the air like lightning. One bolt struck the machine's leg, leaving a blackened scorch mark, but it didn't slow.
Juri gritted his teeth, his hands steady on the controls. "Let's see your magic keep up with this."
Juri's escape marked the beginning of something far greater than he could have anticipated.
News of the "magicless boy" and his machine spread like wildfire, reaching the ears of nobles, merchants, and outlaws alike. Some dismissed the stories as exaggeration, while others saw an opportunity.
But for Juri, it was only the start.
As the Mechanized Soldier limped into the safety of the forest, its engine sputtering one last time before falling silent, Juri climbed out of the cockpit and surveyed the horizon.
He was alone now, hunted by the magical authorities and abandoned by his village. But he didn't feel fear.
He felt alive.
"This is just the beginning," he murmured, a faint smile playing at his lips.
The world would learn to fear the name Juri Winkler.