Steel and Mana

I was walking with Merlin in my garden, listening to his reports and explanations on multiple topics that the ministry was overseeing, while my focus was on the war preparations, letting them meet on their own.

"The bathhouse has been a bigger success than we first expected. It became the number one destination for people, especially on the mandated rest day. It was a good idea to name it Sun Day!"

"Sunday." I corrected him while chuckling. "No matter. Everyone needs a day to rest."

"Don't look at me like that! I have my rest; otherwise, Elena would moan and grunt from dawn to dusk!" He protested, seeing me look down at him with a half-smile.

"Okay, okay, I'm just making sure. Please, continue."

"Um." He nodded, blinking his eyes, thinking about where he stopped, and continued after finding his thoughts, "We are currently producing the howitzers that we are going to send to Duke Kustov to implement in the defenses of the city. I made some modifications to them, though. Because they would be doing defensive work, I increased their firepower by adding a second cannon, causing them to lose a bit of their mobility. Also, a second train engine has been completed! It just needs to be tested, and it can do trips between the Black and Silver Regions when the lines are completed. Speaking of trains... I also had the idea to have them equipped with Dragonfire Cannon platforms…"

"I am not surprised." I smiled because it was also something Oleg had already suggested to me once. "But my General brought it up before you."

"Oh… That's good!" He smiled, happy that others were coming to the same conclusions. "Well, besides that, the railway is being built out with haste, Leon. But... I am a bit worried about the quality on the Duke's side. We have to trust his promise and his workers, but... I don't know."

"Relax. They should be fine; it is not complicated. Our coal plant is also being built by foreign masters, whom we adopted, no?"

"True enough... Oh, yes, the plant. It has been functioning as designed. We are in the last phase, the long-term stress test. It will be, um... It will be online before winter!" He smiled, finding the word I once used while discussing it.

"Good! Hook it up to our factories and street lamps first. It will liven up the city when snowfall comes."

"Plus, now that the Empress is also taking up residence there, we can have a breather." He nodded, feeling confident.

"Who knows…" I answered him with a shrug, stopping to look up at the clear sky. It was a beautiful day; the weather was warm enough to enjoy the breeze and the clean, fresh air and cold enough to not get sweaty. It was just… perfect. "With the Judgement there, with the city being reinforced, I don't know if Pascal would be stupid enough to launch an attack against it."

"They can maneuver to go around the Silver region to directly strike us, but that would give them a chance for Mirian to stab them in the back from the city. They would be fools to ignore it!" He argued, finding it illogical.

"He could be confident enough to finish the mission before Mirian can make her move." I argued.

"What do you suggest?" He asked, watching my hand slip into my robe and pull out a rolled parchment.

"This is a version of the Scorc Kingdom's weapon that I have refined. Sasha and Mikan also took it, looked it through, and did some initial tests. It turns out that Mikan has a better affinity towards it than Sacchy."

"Hmmm… Its power doesn't seem to be… As strong as we experienced it." He mumbled, scanning the formation and my wives' notes.

"Don't forget, you fiddled with it back then, falling unconscious while doing it." I elbowed him, making my Prime Minister blush. "So tinker with it a bit. Just don't blow yourself up, or Elena is going to kill me."

"I won't! But… What are we going to do with this? Install on a mech?"

"Originally, I wanted this on mine, yes. But things have changed, and we are going to refine it by the time we get there. As I said, Pascal has the power and ability to skirt around Mirian's new city and come straight for us. We are going to use this to prevent him from just flying in and bombing us to oblivion."

"We are going to use this against the rest of his ships…" He mumbled, understanding it at once.

"Yes. Their power has been cut, but that's because I am counting on installing multiple of them. This will be our defense against flying enemies. This will be much better because hitting a flying object is hard, and a projectile spell like the one from our Dragonfire Cannons takes time to travel and explode. With this, we just need to aim and fire; the beam spell will connect almost instantly, and we can keep our aim at the target without needing to recalculate a trajectory for every shot."

"I will see what I can do! How many do you want to install?"

"They have three ships remaining. So I want nine nestled around the city."

"Three for each, huh?" He nodded, crossing his arms, but before he could mimic my usual way of scratching my chin, I smiled, shaking my head.

"Two. The rest are for when it turns out Pascal has another ship hidden for personal use."

"You think that's the case?"

"Look," I shrugged, spreading my arms, "He may have something else concealed. I'm just saying I wouldn't be surprised if he pulls out a Master-level spell that he can drop on us without turning himself into a dead lump of meat."

"Hopefully… that's not the case…"

"We will see, Merlin. We will see."

…

….

……

"Is there something to report?" Pascal asked, feeling Otto's magic resonate within his mind. The moment the tingling sensation appeared, the old monster established a mental connection while sitting on his throne, listening to the nobles of the capital city swearing fielty to their Eternal Emperor.

"We have a spy. Our people within this Avalon are probably all compromised and dead. We have failed to infiltrate the Frontier."

"Are you sure?"

"I just laid with one of their agents. I extracted enough from her taste to know why she was sent to us."

"I see… Did you kill her?"

"No, My Emperor. I am dispatching her to the city where the betraying Empress is. I expect her to make contact with Mirian Ishillia, and I will use her to place my trap as close as possible."

"Good. Do as you wish; I trust you, my disciple."

"I am sending a mage with her. I know we are low on talented ones, but I thought we could afford to lose one. If they do nothing, this mage can be my actual spy, but if they bring her directly to the betrayer to fiddle with her mind... It would be the perfect outcome."

Listening to him, Pascal almost laughed out loudly as a smile did form on the edge of his lips. He knew what Otto was talking about. He had a similar spell implanted in his own disciples, one that would turn them into a weapon when captured. Before anybody would recognize it, the moment they tried to use any spells on his pawns, it would activate, and the explosion would level half of a city, if not more. Now, he really wanted his ambitious, little descendant to try and tamper with their sacrificial lamb. It would end the civil unrest in an instant!

"Keep me informed, Otto."

"Yes, My Emperor. Leave this issue to me. I will deal with it."

…

….

……

The dimming light of the emptying Edmund Lamp caused flickering shadows to dance on the stone walls of Marca's workshop. The smell of herbs and metal lingered in the air, a bit too heavy of a scent for those who weren't used to it. Her hands moved swiftly over her workbench, stirring a mixture that she hoped would reveal the answer to her latest obsession—something that could produce the same kind of flames as magic. It happened once, by accident, and the erupting explosion scared her to death, but her fear soon turned into desire. She wanted to replicate it, inspired by the lamp young Edmund had created.

"More rock salt…" she muttered to herself, carefully pinching the fine white powder into her mortar. Her leather-bound journal, filled with scribbles and calculations, lay open beside her, illuminated by the lamplight. Marca had spent more than a month on this formula, refining it, changing ratios, but tonight felt different. Tonight, the air was heavy with anticipation.

She added a pinch of sulfur she bought from merchants visiting from the Atuvian League, her fingers smudged with its yellow stains. Its scent was like a nail hammered into her nostrils, but she ignored the sensation. The powder sparked as it hit the mixture but didn't ignite—just as it hadn't the last dozen times. Yet something in her gut whispered that she was close, maddeningly close. She grabbed a small stick of charcoal, grinding it into dust before adding it to the mix. Edmund did it… She was the Master Alchemist of Avalon… She will do it too!

The pungent scent of sulfur burned her nose, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was elsewhere, in the alchemical symbols developed and co-authored by her and her Sovereign himself. She'd memorized it all and used it to balance elements, the careful dance between destruction and creation. Her heartbeat quickened as she stirred the blend into a fine, dark powder. It didn't look like much—just a tiny pile of ash-black dust in a clay bowl—but her instincts told her otherwise.

With shaking hands, she carried the bowl to the center of the workshop, where a metal tray awaited, its surface dented from previous experiments. Marca knelt beside it, whispering a soft prayer to Goddess Elyse, who was known to hold immense power in their pantheon. She held her breath and struck a flint, sending a spark into the air.

For a moment, nothing. The silence was palpable, heavy. Then—whoosh—a sudden flash of light erupted from the powder, igniting in a burst of crackling fire. The same type she once previously achieved while trying to find more uses for the rock salt to develop a new medicine for the army.

She scrambled back in a hurry, her eyes wide, her heart pounding in her chest. The flames leaped and danced for an instant, bright and violent, before subsiding into smoke. The sharp tang of sulfur filled the room, choking the air, but she didn't care at that moment.

Her eyes finally blinked, her lungs protesting against the smell. She coughed as the smoke cleared, but she kept staring at the blackened tray. Her hands trembled, but not from fear. Something surged inside her—excitement, awe, a strange thrill at what she'd just witnessed.

She had made fire. From nothing. Like a mage.

Her mind raced. This wasn't magic—it was a power she herself created.

A sound startled her then, the creaking of the oak door at the far end of the workshop. It was her husband, Loct, who stood there, eyes wide, his face pale.

"Marca, what was that?"

She turned to him after hearing his voice, her lips curling into a sly smile.

"Something new, my dear!" she said, her voice barely a whisper but filled with promise. "Something the world has never seen." She then turned back at the smoking tray, the last wisps of sulfur curling upward. There was still much to learn and refine, but Marca knew in her heart. She had discovered something that would change everything. "Fetch me more rock salt, my love!" she finally said, her voice rising just as her feet pushed her to stand up, "We have work to do!"