The workshop was alive with noise.
Juri Winkler tightened the bolt on the mechanized arm in front of him, his hands moving with precision despite the ache in his fingers. Sparks flew as metal ground against metal, and the acrid scent of burning oil filled the air. The dim light of the lanterns cast flickering shadows across the stone walls, highlighting the organized chaos of Ironhold's new heart: Juri's workshop.
The half-finished frame of the next Mechanized Soldier stood at the room's center, an eight-foot-tall skeleton of iron and steel. Its joints were reinforced with scrap plates, its pistons more streamlined than the earlier version. Tools and blueprints cluttered the tables around it, alongside a growing stockpile of spare parts.
Juri stepped back, wiping grease from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. The clatter of hammers and the hum of gears echoed through the fortress as his growing team of rebels worked tirelessly under his direction.
The stolen schematics from Greystone had been a treasure trove of knowledge. Though they were primarily focused on magical amplification, Juri saw possibilities beyond their intended purpose. The designs had given him insight into mana stabilization systems, which he now sought to adapt for his machines—though without the use of mana itself.
"Mana crystals are inefficient," Juri muttered to himself as he sketched in the margins of the blueprint. "Too much energy wasted, not enough precision. A self-sustaining energy core would outperform this nonsense."
He scribbled notes furiously, the nib of his pen scratching against the parchment.
"Talking to yourself again, genius?"
Juri didn't look up. "If I stop talking to myself, who else around here will understand me?"
Halrick chuckled as he walked into the workshop, his boots crunching on loose metal shavings. He carried a sack slung over one shoulder, filled with what Juri immediately recognized as salvaged supplies.
"Don't flatter yourself," Halrick said, setting the sack down with a thud. "You've got half the fortress thinking you're some kind of messiah. You might want to throw them a bone before they start asking questions."
Juri raised an eyebrow, finally looking up from his work. "Questions? Like what?"
"Oh, I don't know." Halrick leaned casually against the frame of the Mechanized Soldier, which groaned faintly under his weight. "Questions like, 'Why are we risking our lives for a machine that hasn't proven itself?' Or, 'What's the point of fighting magic with something that might fall apart in the middle of a battle?'"
Juri smirked faintly. "Let them ask. The answer is simple: progress doesn't wait for fear to catch up."
Halrick crossed his arms, his expression hardening. "You've got a sharp tongue, kid. But talk only gets you so far. If you don't show these people something soon, their loyalty won't mean squat."
Juri's smirk faded. He glanced at the Mechanized Soldier, its massive frame looming over the workshop like a slumbering giant.
"It's not ready yet," Juri admitted, his tone measured.
"Then make it ready," Halrick said, his voice low and serious. "We don't have the luxury of time. The Arcanists aren't going to wait for you to perfect this thing."
Juri exhaled slowly, his gaze sharpening. "Fine. We'll test it tomorrow."
The announcement of the test spread quickly through Ironhold, sparking a mix of excitement and skepticism among the rebels. Word of Juri's machines had drawn people from nearby villages and towns—farmers, blacksmiths, and even a few disillusioned mages. They had come seeking hope, but hope was a fragile thing.
"I heard it's a death trap," one man muttered as he stood in the courtyard with a group of recruits.
"A machine can't replace magic," another said, shaking his head. "It's just not possible."
Garrick, the wiry leader who had helped rally many of the rebels, overheard the whispers as he strode through the fortress. He frowned, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd.
"Enough gossip," Garrick said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "You're here because you want a chance to fight back, aren't you? If Juri's machines can give us that chance, then we owe him the benefit of the doubt."
One of the recruits stepped forward, his arms crossed. "You trust him? Some kid who doesn't even have magic?"
Garrick's gaze hardened. "I trust results. And if you don't, then maybe you should walk back to your little farm and keep waiting for the Arcanists to knock on your door."
The recruit muttered under his breath but didn't argue further.
The next morning, the rebels gathered in a rocky field beyond the fortress walls, the air thick with anticipation. The upgraded Mechanized Soldier stood at the center, its iron frame gleaming in the pale sunlight. The machine was a far cry from its predecessor—sleek, reinforced, and outfitted with new features, including a mounted projectile launcher on its shoulder.
Juri stood beside the machine, his arms crossed as he addressed the gathered crowd.
"This is more than just a machine," he said, his voice carrying across the field. "It's a symbol. Magic has ruled this world for too long, and it's held you all in chains. This machine is proof that there's another way—a way to fight back."
The crowd murmured, their expressions a mix of awe and doubt.
Juri climbed into the cockpit, settling into the crude seat behind the machine's controls. He adjusted the levers and flipped a series of switches, the engine roaring to life with a deep, mechanical growl.
The machine's joints hissed as it moved, its massive legs taking a lumbering step forward. The rebels watched in silence, their skepticism slowly giving way to astonishment.
Juri guided the machine toward a series of wooden targets set up at the far end of the field. He flipped another switch, and the mounted launcher fired, the projectile streaking through the air before striking a target and reducing it to splinters.
The crowd erupted into cheers, their earlier doubts forgotten.
Halrick grinned, clapping Garrick on the shoulder. "Told you the kid had something up his sleeve."
But Juri wasn't finished. He pushed the machine harder, testing its limits as it navigated the uneven terrain. The Mechanized Soldier moved with surprising agility, its reinforced joints absorbing the shock of each step.
Finally, Juri brought the machine to a stop and climbed out, his face streaked with sweat but triumphant.
"It's not perfect," he admitted, addressing the crowd. "But it's a start. And with your help, we can make it better. We can make it unstoppable."
That evening, as the rebels celebrated the successful test, Juri sat alone in the workshop, his mind racing with new ideas. The machine had performed well, but it wasn't enough. The Arcanists wouldn't be impressed by a single machine—they would bring overwhelming force to crush him.
Halrick entered the workshop, a tankard of ale in one hand. "You should be out there celebrating," he said.
"Celebrations don't build armies," Juri replied without looking up.
Halrick smirked. "You've got a hell of a drive, kid. But you can't do this alone."
Juri finally looked up, his gaze sharp. "I'm not alone. I have you. I have Garrick. And now, I have them."
Halrick nodded slowly. "Yeah, but don't forget—they're not machines. They need to believe in you, not just the metal you build."
Juri leaned back in his chair, his expression softening slightly. "I know. But belief doesn't win wars. Power does."
Halrick raised his tankard in a mock toast. "To power, then."
Juri didn't respond, his mind already returning to the blueprints spread out before him.
The successful test marked a turning point for the rebels. With renewed confidence, they threw themselves into the work of building more machines, refining their tactics, and preparing for the battles to come.
But news of the test also reached the ears of the Royal Academy.
In a grand chamber filled with glowing runes and crystalline light, Lorian Vehr read the report with a cold smile.
"So," he murmured, "the magicless boy thinks he's clever. Let's see how clever he is when I burn his fortress to the ground."