Steel and Mana

The ironclad, black-painted feet of Polo's massive mech sank into the earth with every step, each footfall reverberating across the quiet field as the sun dipped toward the horizon, its rays reflected within the white, decorative paint on his machine. The lands around him were tranquil, smeared in the dusk's soft, golden glow, but he knew that this momentarily idyllic summer picture was in grave danger. The group he was part of now was close to the border between Greyback, Goldengrove, and Rockfield, the western neighborhood of Elliot's domain. Rockfield was a sparsely populated area, filled with jagged hills and rocky protrusions, a mostly inhospitable land that connected the Frontier to the western parts of the Empire. It was home to a minor baronet, an old family whose only role was to monitor the caravans going back and forth, passing through their land, providing protection. They were there to keep from bandits thriving and bothering trade. Their territory's connection to Goldengrove was meager, and the place Pion was leading them to was the same crossing point where Elvira had passed through, braving their fake ambush.

The group of a hundred elite soldiers commanded by Pion, the Rook, and two howitzers marched without uttering a word. They kept their pace to a healthy speed to arrive at their destination as soon as possible while remaining fit. They would defend the ideal entry point to Goldengrove against any army that wished to invade them, while Elliot's troops were there to support them and lock down all the other crossing points. Still, the question was: Was there an army indeed incoming? They didn't know, but with Empress Mirian traveling to the Silver Region and becoming the bastion in the south, their western borders remained the only other option where an army could directly reach the Frontier.

Thinking about it, Polo's grip tightened on the controls that guided his machine, although at the moment, he was melded into one with it. He was seeing the marching troops from high above, being one of them, only much, much taller. His heart still thrummed with the pride of his recent knighthood, his Sovereign's words echoing in his mind over and over again. It was his first campaign, and the burden of responsibility pressed upon his shoulders as he would be a key figure in protecting Avalon from its enemies… Just as his oath decreed.

Ahead of him, Pion walked briskly, becoming a commander who radiated calm authority. His black armor was immaculate, and his whole persona had shifted since putting it on. He was easily approachable when they were back home while they were not dressed as soldiers. Yet, after donning his uniform, he became their Commander, the voice that gave direction and represented their Sovereign's orders and will. His presence was the steadying force that kept the troops in formation, even as Polo's presence made the earth shake with every step.

"Polo," Pion's calm but firm voice crackled through the communicator in his cockpit. "Your stride is off."

Hearing the warning, Polo swallowed, glancing down at the soldiers keeping the pace beside him. With this journey, he finally understood why his training was so arduous. Piloting his own machine took a toll on his body as he once again felt like he had that heavy vat of water strapped to his back, striding through the land barefoot. Not that he would complain! Immediately, he adjusted his stride, the suit's hydraulics and servos whirring in response as he resumed the ideal pace, feeling his muscles obey his mind. Or was he feeling the Rook's machinery? He couldn't separate the two in the state he was in.

"Better." Pion added after a moment, and Polo let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The march had been long, weeks of travel through fields and forests that carried the scent of summer. Their journey was made in silence, save for the rhythmic clinking of armor and the soft thud of Polo's giant metal feet. The conversation was sparse—soldiers saving their energy for the fortifications they would build, the defensive line they would hold once they reached the border. None needed to be reminded why they were here. With the civil war beginning within Ishillia, it was time for Avalon to become independent, but first, they had to prove they could stay independent.

At that moment, they were passing through a thick forest, the trees towering over even Polo's mechanical frame, casting long shadows across their path. It was the last area before reaching the border, and it would provide ample resources to build their temporary fortifications. The ground here was soft, and the weight of the mech made it slow going, each step becoming an effort not to sink too deeply into the earth.

"Commander, how much further until we reach the ridge?" one of the soldiers called out, his voice carrying through the thick canopy.

Pion turned his head slightly, his gaze sharp. "We'll make camp at dusk. The crossing point is a half-day march from here. Rest well tonight, for the real work begins tomorrow!"

Polo's stomach churned at the thought of it; luckily, the mech's speakers were offline; otherwise, it would probably be something he would be reminded of for the rest of his life. Thinking about it, he remembered his own missives. While the soldiers beneath him would dig trenches, build barricades, and prepare for an invading army, his duty was different. The Rook was both a weapon and a fortress—an unstoppable force of destruction that would be unleashed if the enemy dared cross the border. His back carried two long-range cannons, the same as their howitzers, while on his left, he had a shield equipped with a magic that could expand, covering five hundred square meters, erecting a barrier against enemy spells. He had been trained for this and prepared for the moment he would be called to fight. He would be the wall that would stop Avalon's enemies. And yet, now that the moment came so close, doubt slowly crept in like a shadow behind him. Could he truly live up to the honor of his knighthood? Could he pilot the God-like machine with the same skill and grace as his Sovereign? His wife or father? Was he blessed like the Sovereign's family?

"Focus, Polo." Pion's voice cut into his thoughts again, just at the right time. "You are our, the vanguard's shield. We march because you lead."

Polo nodded, regaining his bearing, though he knew Pion couldn't see it. Still, the words steadied his mind. He was the shield, the Knight who would stand tallest when the fighting began. He glanced down again at the soldiers—men who trusted him, men who had fought for years while he had only just donned his title. The weight of their expectations pressed on him, but he would carry it just as the Rook carried him forward.

Dusk fell quickly, and the sky was awash with purples and deep blues when they reached the clearing where they would put down their last camp before arriving. The soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, setting up tents and organizing the perimeter while Polo powered down the mech at the camp's central position. The hiss of hydraulics and the groan of metal joints filled the air as the machine settled into a proud, standing position, allowing Polo to roll down the rope ladder and descend from the cockpit, drenched in sweat.

As his feet touched the earth, the world suddenly seemed much larger without him towering above it. It was a bit disorienting as if he had suddenly shrunk from an adult to a baby. As he was gathering his bearings, Pion approached him, giving Polo a nod of approval and showing him a slight smile after his helmet's visor was raised with a clank.

"You're doing well..." he said, his voice low so the others wouldn't hear. "The first march is always the hardest."

Polo hesitated, then spoke, his voice quieter than he intended. "Do you ever doubt, Commander? Ever wonder if we're truly ready for what's coming?"

Pion's eyes, sharp and confident, met his, remaining silent for a few seconds. He wasn't angry at him; he understood why he was asking it. "Every battle brings doubt. The trick is not to fight it. You let it pass, and when the moment comes, you act. We're here because we must be. If we don't do it, who will? Doubt will be gone from your mind when you fight, replaced with the confidence your training engraved into your muscles. We are soldiers and will do what must be done so Avalon can prosper."

"I don't want to bring shame to everyone, especially being the first to be Knighted…"

"You won't." Pion whispered, patting his shoulders, "You are one of us, Polo. And one of the best. Never doubt that!"

As the campfires flickered to life and the soldiers gathered to rest, Polo stood near the towering shadow of his mech suit, gazing toward the darkening horizon. After hearing Pion's words, he also felt a fire ignite within his chest. The border lay just beyond it and with it, the unknown. Tomorrow, they would fortify it. Tomorrow, they would prepare for war.

But for now, he allowed himself a moment of peace, standing watch as the stars began to pierce through the twilight sky, proud of where he was and who he had become. He knew that if his parents were up there somewhere, with the Six Gods, they were just as proud of him in that moment…

…
….
……

Hospet. The foremost city of Westland and the headquarters of Otto, proud servant mage of Pascal. It was an early morning, and Otto was standing in his own luxurious room, finishing sealing the sixth and final letter he wrote, ready to be sent out. One amongst them was especially important, something that had to be physically delivered to his master. It was the envelope containing information Elvira had brought back. More than that, she even provided the knowledge that, indeed, the Zimmermanns are in this city of Avalon, the three heirs getting their legs broken in retaliation.

He already had plans to send Ospeck back to make contact with them while he would also keep the woman behind. On the one hand, he liked what he was seeing and wanted to have a taste for himself, while, on the other hand, he indeed needed capable spies. With everything happening, he had a role for Elvira in infiltrating the Silver Region, helping his Emperor ahead of time before an actual army was sent to conquer it.

"As for this Avalon…" Otto mumbled, looking at the first letter he wrote.

It was time to assemble a small army of barely a thousand people and send it forth. Just as his Emperor ordered, he would sacrifice them and see what kind of defenses the rebellious Frontier had. Of course, he would send some of his own men with them, including two intermediate mages disguised as soldiers. He didn't expect the army to survive or get far; he only needed them to mask and protect his mages, who were the best at recording everything and bringing back an even better image.

Just by thinking about 'image,' he couldn't help himself but pull out the same device Ospeck used to spy on the train. With another boxy, metallic part in his hands, Otto quickly slotted it onto the device. As he used his mana to stir the formation within, the image of the train projected in front of him, covering the opposing, empty wall with the colorful image of the machine… this train.

Watching it, he could see the smoke appear from within its belly before the image replayed the same five or six seconds. It wasn't as clear as he had hoped, but what could one do. It wasn't a mage doing the recording. Ospeck didn't have the ability to use his mana to filter, so the device recorded everything, even light that the eyes couldn't see, making the image distorted here and there.

"His Majesty has to see this… We need it… And I will deliver it to him!"